Three Doors
by smithereen
Summary: When she and Angel are captured by a demon, Buffy must make a choice that has far reaching consequences.
1. Three Doors: Part One

_They whisper words into my ears  
One speaks of truth and  
one speaks of my fears  
My disabilities don't get in my way  
I look to the future and live day to day_

_Three doors to go through  
I only want the one that leads to you  
They say there's three doors to go through  
I only what the one that leads to you  
because only one leads to you  
and who's to blame?_

_This your only chance at immortality  
I'll give you strength  
but I cannot give you the keys._

_Three Doors  
- VAST_

**Three Doors**

***  
**

Buffy's eyes fluttered open, and she blinked against the glare of the torches set in the stone walls around her. She shifted and gasped in surprise when pain lanced through her side. Her grogginess cleared by the rush of pain, she tilted her head and looked up. Iron bars crossed over her head. They were high enough above her to allow her to sit, but not stand. She gathered her strength and propped herself up against the side of the cage, her sore back protesting the cold imprint of the hard strips of metal. She rested a moment and lightly touched her side with her fingertips. She hissed at the gentle probing and decided she had broken at least one rib. How she had broken it was a harder question to answer.

She faced the bars of the cage and pulled on them. They seemed too solid to break. Her gaze drifted to the floor and caught on another cage no more than two feet from her own. She pressed her face against the bars of her prison and peered at the large figure sprawled inside.

Angel. Her head drooped as she remembered everything, patrolling, the ambush, being overwhelmed by demons who simply outnumbered them, seeing Angel fall under their hairy bodies, being pulled down herself, and then the blackness.

She grabbed the bars again and pulled as hard as she could. With gritted teeth, she admitted to herself that it was hopeless.

"Angel," she said, keeping her voice low for fear of bringing a guard into the cave. "Angel, wake up," she hissed again. She strained her hand through the bars of her cage. They were spaced so narrowly that she could barely get her arm between them, but she was able to force the limb through up to the elbow. Her finger tips strained, her skin tight with the desperation of reaching. She was a few inches short of the other cage's bars. His foot and the hem of his coat were pressed up against the bars, if she could just reach. She stretched again, jamming the joint of her elbow into the unforgiving metal. Her fingers again rigid and pointing, as if she could force them to grow until they touched him. The cage was too far, she realized with a swallowed sob of discouragement and pain. She withdrew her arm, now shaky from exertion. She slammed the open heel of her hand against the bars with all her strength, starting fearfully at the metallic thump it created.

She relaxed when the sound brought no one into the room. Had she felt the bars shudder? The cage move? Or had she imagined it? She looked at the cage again. It was the same on all four sides, the same network of metal bars. The top looked just the same as the bottom did, and the bottom was not bolted to the floor. She grabbed the bars again and rocked backwards as hard as she could on her heels. The cage tipped a little. She rocked forward, and it slammed back down. Had it moved forward at all? She repeated the rocking movement, and the cage was suddenly lopsided with one side, the side near Angel's head, clearly closer to his cage than the other. She forced her arm through the metal slats again, her fingers trembling with the need to make contact. Her fingernails scraped dully against the roughness of the outside of one of the bars. She strained harder, and they scraped against the inside of the bar. They scrabbled against the bar for purchase, catching and pulling weakly without the leverage to move the other cage closer. Her shoulder ached with the strain, but her fingers reached desperately until they touched something other than iron.

Her fingernails scratched at Angel's coat. She whimpered in frustration and pressed her forehead against the bars. She managed to squeeze a fold of the heavy fabric between her index and middle fingers. It shifted slightly under her weak pull, not nearly enough for Angel to feel it.

But his eyes opened.

"Angel," she said, relief coloring her voice and allowing her to withdraw her exhausted arm.

"Buffy," he said softly, his eyes studying the bars that surrounded him. "Where are we?"

"I don't know." He turned his gaze from the bars to her face as she spoke. With a soft groan he pulled himself upright and rested his forehead against the bars. "Are you okay?" she asked.

"Nothing a little time won't cure. You?"

"I think a broken rib, other than that nothing serious." They fell silent. He nodded and pulled at the bars in front of him, finding them as immovable as she had. He swept the room with grave eyes, and as he expected, found nothing to help them escape.

She watched him silently, her blue eyes flashing green while she waited for him to finish. He met her gaze when he had. He pushed his hand through the bars, unable to force much of his arm through the small space. His palm was open, reaching. She put her own arm out towards him, able to reach his hand without having to strain. His fingers wrapped around hers, the rough texture of his larger hand a comforting pressure around her own.

Her eyes seemed locked on his; memorizing the way the torch light broke and was reflected in tiny pieces in them. She thought she should say something, but couldn't figure out how or what. Somehow he seemed to understand anyway. She smiled a small, sad smile. And he returned it.

Though he had tested the strength of the bars, his heart rebelled against accepting the knowledge of their strength. His soul rebelled against seeing that smile of resignation on her face. His throat tightened with anger, and he slammed his free hand against the metal that imprisoned him.

He withdrew his hand from hers with a growl, his true face revealed as his hands grabbed the bars in front of him. He snarled, running his tongue over his fangs as he jerked and pulled at the bars desperately. Like a wild animal, losing all reason in the attempt to escape captivity, he bashed the bars with his hands and feet, thrashing. Buffy rattled the bars of her own cage, throwing herself against them, her own lips pulled away from her teeth in an unconscious mirroring of Angel's expression. The bars stood immobile against the double assault, although the cages did slide a few inches closer together.

His rage fading with the realization that all his strength was useless to break their bonds, Angel's frantic movements slowed. Buffy kicked against her cage again, then stopped, her chest heaving with frustration and exertion. Angel slammed his shoulder against the bars, then stilled, his head bowed. When he raised it, his human face had slipped back into place.

He offered an apology for his failure when he finally looked up and met Buffy's eyes. He knew she would understand it, that she would understand all of what he felt. But he needed to tell her; he needed her to hear the words if it was to be the last time. He offered her his hand again, and she took it immediately, threading her fingers through his.

"I love you," he whispered finally. "Whatever happens next," his voice broke and he swallowed, "nothing can change that."

"I love you," she answered, her throat tightening, making it hard for her to speak. She blinked dry eyes and felt them fill with tears. "Forever." He tightened his grip on her hand, and she squeezed desperately in return trying to show him with the touch of their hands what she would have in a kiss or a hug. She tried to memorize the feel of her hand in his, the curve of his jaw, the slope of his nose.

"There's not enough time," he said softly. His eyes filled with her as he swept them over every curve of her body, every feature of her face, every strand of her hair.

"Do you think it'll hurt?" she asked in a small voice, admitting fear. His eyes filled with regret and anger, guilt at his failure to protect her. He pushed his free hand through the bars as if he could touch her cheek, trace the path of her tears and wipe them away. But she was too far away. All he had was her hand.

"I wish I could just hold you once more," he said. She scraped her fingernails lightly against the back of his hand.

"Or kiss me goodbye," she agreed, trying a smile.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered. She shook her head, no. Her eyes were bright, but she smiled again.

"Nothing to be sorry for."

He pulled her hand as close to his cage as he could, stopping when he saw her elbow pressed immobile against the iron. Then he hunched his back, pushing his face against the bars. Understanding, Buffy strained toward him, reaching as hard as she could, gaining the small amount of distance needed for her fingertips to scrape past the bars. His lips brushed against her fingers once, twice, and then she was forced to draw back by the pain throbbing through her exhausted arm. Neither of them were willing to relinquish the small bit of contact left to them, so their hands remained firmly joined.

They simply looked at each other, having passed beyond the need for words.

The sound of feet pounding down the hallway interrupted the silence. As they drew nearer, the sound of the feet grew louder; the pattern they pounded out joined with demon voices raised in growls and shrieks to became a steadily more chaotic wall of noise. Buffy met Angel's gaze and tilted her head. If they were taken from their cages they might have a slim chance, but even then it sounded like there were hundreds of demons advancing on the cave. Angel's grip on her hand tightened to the point of pain, but Buffy did not feel it. She only squeezed back with the same intensity.

Angel mouthed the words, "No matter what happens," as the demons began to pour into the cave. They were all short, Buffy guessed no more than four feet. Their bodies were covered in thick dark hair, and short horns protruded from their heads. One or two or five of them would stand no chance against her. But there were so many of them. The stream of them simply did not end; they filled the cave as completely as they could, surrounding the cages, pressing against them. Buffy only glanced at them long enough to see just how many there were, then her eyes returned to Angel. Their hands remained firmly joined.

Buffy's cage swayed, lifted off the ground by a swarm of the demons. She watched as Angel's tilted crazily while being hoisted up. Their hands were pulled by the motion, but they held on and kept a firm grip on each other.

The demons parted down the center, flowing towards opposite ends of the cave like the Red Sea, each half carrying a cage in their direction. As the cages drew apart, Buffy and Angel's arms stretched out, no longer slack, instead straining desperately to maintain the contact of their hands against the restraint of the bars and the momentum of the demons carrying them. For a moment, the momentum stopped. For a few seconds, the strength of vampire and slayer joined together equaled the strength of a horde of demons. Angel and Buffy's hands, palm to palm, fingers entwined, grasped painfully tight, remained joined. In that moment, holding back the tide of demons, it was as if they could not be sundered, as if they had become one being, their hands grown together, their souls and bodies joined and invincible. That moment, those seconds, stretched as if they would last forever, as if the two of them would find immortality in the passage of a second.

And then the moment was over; the demons swarmed on. Hundreds overcoming two as they inevitably had to. Buffy's gaze remained joined with Angel's even as her palm was pulled away from his. Their fingers slowly lost their purchase, and she felt them slipping apart. Like flesh tearing, the skin of their fingers scraped one against the other, agonizingly slow, not slow enough. The texture of his skin, the way it traced against hers, the way it touched her, it was suddenly everything. The demon's jabbering and squealing and growling, deafening before, was muted. She was deaf. She was blind to everything but his eyes. And her entire world was the feel of his fingers rubbing against hers, losing their grasp, slipping away. Losing him. All she could feel was herself being lost as she lost him. She wanted to scream, but she was mute. She screamed with her eyes and knew he would hear her.

And then all she had of him were the tips of his fingers. She felt the hardness of his fingernails, and the bare remnants of touch as her fingers felt the end of his and were drawn inexorably onward.

And then all she had of him was his eyes that told her again and again that he loved her.

And then her cage was carried away from him down a tunnel, and she lost even that small part of him. She was left with only the memory of his hand in hers, like the ghost of his touch.

She hunched dully in her prison, barely noticing when she was placed in front of a giant throne carved out of solid granite. But even Angel was temporarily driven from her mind when she saw the demon sitting in the throne. It was at least ten feet tall. Maybe more. It was hard to tell when the horns were so big they scraped the top of the cave. Small pieces of rock drifted to the ground like gritty rain when the demon moved its head. Buffy watched, disconnected and abstract, as a stalactite loosed by the movement fell, crashing against the top of her cage. Her vision faded as a large piece of rock slammed into her skull. She watched through a grey fog as her cage's bars shattered the larger formation and sent pieces of it flying out into the sea of demons surrounding her. She spared a thought for Angel, hoping he would be enveloped in the same merciful darkness. And then there was nothing.

* * * * * *

Buffy lay in the center of a small, circular stone room, the walls rough hewn, sparkling with viens of pyrite in the light given off by the torches high above her head. She stood up slowly, pressing her hands tightly against her aching head. Able to stand, and able to see, she considered herself lucky. The rest of the situation was less lucky. She was surrounded by three identical doors. They were all arched, wooden. They each had an equally rusted handle.

She looked closer. They were the same, exactly the same, the patterns in the wood, the speckles of rust on the hinges. No deviation to give her a hint of what lay behind them. She might as well have been asked to choose a random section of the wall.

She turned slowly, studying the walls of the room, or cave as it were. The top curved high above her, but offered no exit. The torches might have been used to set a fire, but there was no way to reach them. And even if she could grab one out of its metal casing and use it to burn the wooden doors, she'd die in the flames. There was no way out of the cave besides the doors. She didn't even know how she had gotten in, which of the doors they had brought her through; she had been unconscious at the time.

In fact she had been unconscious since the rock incident, yet she could clearly remember the demon speaking to her. She could almost hear the voice now, clear and high and beautiful; but so loud it hurt, ringing in her head, shaking her brain and body with its force. And what it had said...

Of course it was possible there was some other way in. But that didn't much matter if there was only one way out. One way out. That was a lie. There were three doors, and two ways out. One was walking out with Angel, the other was being carried out dead. And which way she would leave was up to her.

She punched uselessly at a door with the heel of her hand, accomplishing nothing but a severe jar that shook her arm bone deep all the way to the shoulder.

Behind one of those doors was Angel. The demon in charge had promised her he was unharmed, and would remain that way if she picked the right door.

Behind the other two were monsters. She hadn't been told what kind, only that they were the stuff of her worst nightmares. And considering the size of the room and her concussion plus broken rib, she wasn't betting on herself in a fight with whatever came out of the door. Even if she had been able to beat whatever was going to come after her, picking the wrong door meant instant death for Angel.

If she caused his death she didn't even know if she would want to fight.

She paced the length of the room, running her fingers over the roughness of the rock, the splintery hardness of the doors, as if there was a clue in the texture. As if she could feel his presence through the door, like some kind of tangible bond between them. Or maybe she was just stalling. Maybe if she waited long enough someone would come to save her, or Angel would escape, or part of the cave would crumble inward and let her out. Maybe. Maybe nothing. There was no way out in not choosing. Long before she would die of starvation, a team of demons would kill her, and Angel. That was another of the parts in the perfect trap the demon master had laid before her.

So she had to choose. But how could she when it put Angel's life in the hands of fate? When it forced her to trust to luck, pure chance. Fate hadn't been especially kind to either of them. She had no reason to believe this would be any different.

She stopped in front of a door and pressed her ear against the wood, wondering if Angel was doing the same thing on the other side. She strained all her senses, struggling to hear, to feel something, anything that would give her a hint as to whether Angel was behind that door.

"Angel!" she screamed at the top of her lungs, pounding her hand against the door again. She waited, silent and straining, for any suggestion of response. Nothing.

She moved to the next door and pressed her ear against it. Pounded on it. Screamed his name.

She moved on to the third door. Again, she called him. Her scream echoed into unbroken silence. And then the faintest hiss of a whisper.

"Buffy." She jerked back from the door as if burned, then pressed her ear against it and screamed.

"Angel, are you there?"

"Buffy." It was so soft she could barely hear it, so soft she wondered if she had imagined it. But she knew she hadn't. Trembling with excitement, she reached a hand toward the rusty handle.

"Buffy." She hesitated, stopped, pulled her hand back. Where had the whisper come from? It sounded as if... She moved cautiously to the next door, putting her ear against it.

"Buffy," the barest whisper caressed her ear. She whirled, her eyes scraping the walls, the ceiling, the doors, the floor.

"Buffy." Faster and faster the whispers fell over her, blending and overlapping until she thought she would scream. They invaded her head, swept around her, encircled her. And she could not tell if any of them were Angel. And she could not tell where any of them came from.

Slowly she backed away from the door and returned to the center of the room, she turned, her eyes sweeping the room. She closed them and turned again and again. When she opened them she had lost all sense of which door was the first or the third, which she had faced when she first stood, which she had knocked on first, which she had heard the first whisper from. They were all the same, as though there was only one door, multiplied somehow in her subconscious by three. She blinked, her throat clenching claustrophobically. The room was so small. And there was no way out.

She closed her eyes again, and turned until she was almost dizzy enough to fall. Then she turned back the other way until she lost her balance and slipped to one knee. She opened her eyes, the world swaying. One of the doors was directly in front of her. She pulled herself upright and took the few careful steps needed to reach the handle. She ran her hand over the rusty metal, her eyes fixed on the rough brown slats of wood. She hesitated, pulling her hand back, then strengthened her resolve and clutched the handle more tightly. She said a quiet prayer to any god willing to listen, and turned the handle. It creaked and strained reluctantly, hardened by who knew how many years of rust.

With an audible crack, it shifted into place and the door sprung open. Buffy pulled it, her eyes wide. Every muscle tightened with the tension of anticipation, every part of her screaming that she had made the wrong choice and damned them both. Everything in her whimpered that she had made a mistake. And then the door was open, and he stood in a small shadowy tunnel. Angel, his tall figure hunched slightly in the too small space.

She sobbed, tears filling her eyes as her muscles went limp in relief. She threw herself into his arms, her tears staining his shirt. He stroked her hair, his comforting arm encircling her waist possessively. She muttered unintelligibly into his chest of her fear and the guilt at the thought that she would cause his death.

He chuckled, a deep, rich laugh that rubbed over her like silk. She stiffened.

And then he spoke.

"Hello, lover."

She blinked, even that small movement taking strength she didn't know she had. She took one slow breath, and lifted her eyes to meet his. She had chosen the wrong door after all.


	2. Three Doors: Part Two

_And we scorch the earth_   
_Set fire to the sky_   
_Stoop so low to reach so high_   
_A link is lost_   
_The chain is undone_   
_Now we wait all day_   
_For the night to come_   
_And it comes_   
_And it comes_   
_Like a hunter_   
  
_Red Hill Mining Town_   
_- U2_

**Three Doors**   
**Part Two**

Angelus smirked as Buffy met his gaze. She stood unmoving in his arms, her limbs wooden, her mind blank. She struggled to spark some action, some response within herself. She knew the horror and the fear that she should feel, the twisting and clenching of her stomach, the urge to vomit and cough until something ugly was purged from herself. She remembered it all from the last time, the trembling, and the tears, and the mind-numbing, incomprehensible hurt. But all she felt was cold. And though she thought she should have welcomed any emotion or feeling that would free her from this nothingness, she was thankful for the brief respite from the agony that hid so inevitably behind the ice that seemed to have spread out into her heart and mind from the touch of his dead fingers. 

"How..." she breathed, unable to finish the sentence, unable to find her voice. Her throat was strained and tight, locked closed with unshed tears. Tears she would not, could not allow to gather and fall. Her eyes were open, unblinking. She felt the pain, a crushing weight behind the walls she built within herself; and she knew it would overwhelm her when it broke through the freezing stillness that grasped her. 

He traced his thumb against her cheek, surprisingly gentle, and she half closed her eyes, leaning closer to him without willing herself to, her mind unable to remind her body in time that this was not the man she loved. He bent his head, and tucked his fingers under her chin, forcing her face to tilt upwards. 

"Did you miss me?" he whispered. She flinched, and he pulled her roughly against his body as he kissed her with harsh force, his fingers still pushing her lips to meet his. His hands dug into her flesh, and Buffy's mind finally began to whirl, sluggishly overcoming the paralysis that gripped her. 

Allowing her instincts to take over, she kicked out to the side, breaking off the kiss by sweeping one of Angelus' legs out from under him and setting him off balance. He growled, his vampiric face emerging. She punched him as hard as she could in the kidneys. His hands drew back defensively, and she pulled away from the last remnants of his grip on her. She edged backwards toward the open door and the circular room at the end of the tunnel, her fists curled and ready. Her chest heaved; each breath tumbling over the next, coming a little too fast as she tried to focus on the fight and maintain her emotional control, a control she felt slipping almost imperceptibly with each second that passed. 

"Where can you run, Buff?" he asked with a snort. 

He was right, she realized. The doors to the other tunnels were still closed. She was trapped with him, trapped in this nightmare. She studied him silently, unable to muster a response, measuring his steps as he slowly followed her, his movements carelessly graceful. Dangerous and achingly familiar. His every move was a threat; he did not walk, but rather stalked toward her. He took two sudden quick steps, bringing himself dangerously close, and she darted a fist into his face, swinging at him automatically with wild, desperate force. He pulled back, and continued to follow her; silken laughter bubbling from his throat, toying with her mind and body. She set her jaw. 

"A little off your game, lover?" 

"I killed you once; I can do it again." 

Her voice trembled the slightest bit, and he flicked his tongue out as if tasting the fear and doubt that played behind the hard look she tried so desperately to keep on her face. 

"Not exactly, Buff," he said with a grin. "You killed lover boy, remember? Or sent him to hell at least. You waited too long to kill me. Just couldn't bring yourself to do it." 

Buffy jerked slightly, her defensive posture wavering as guilt sparked in her eyes. Her heart cried out underneath the numbness that enveloped it, screaming for what she had lost, raging at the unfairness of losing her Angel this way a second time. After all their caution, after all they had denied themselves to prevent this, the unthinkable had happened again. Her eyes narrowed, and she exhaled a shaky breath, then pulled herself into a firmer stance. She yearned to glance behind her, to see how far away the end of the tunnel was, to catch a glimpse of the warm torchlight that would be spilling into the darkness. But she could not take her eyes off him for even a second. She took another set of wary steps backward. Surely she was almost there; she hadn't come that far into the tunnel when she ran to meet him. Soon she would step into the light, and when she had room to breathe she would be able to think clearly, to fight and kill him. 

"Funny how you could kill this guy you were supposedly in love with, but you never could bring yourself to kill me. What does that say about you, lover?" 

"Fuck you." 

"I think you should." 

Her eyes widened briefly at the taunt, and her fists wavered again. Angelus moved with incredible speed, hurling his body at her, his arms grabbing at her hair and torso. Buffy turned and kicked outward a few seconds too slowly. She grunted as he pulled a handful of her hair with him when his body was driven back by the kick. His hands tore at her, trying to drag her to him; she strained against him, her fists flying, pounding indiscriminately with panicked energy as she fought to free herself from his grasp. He let go, and she stumbled, falling backwards into a pool of torchlight. He crawled forward, advancing on her like a jungle cat, his muscles bunching and flexing as he moved towards her while she scrambled backwards into the small room. 

She had no time to glance at her surrounding before he sprang at her again, bearing her to the ground underneath him, pinning her arms above her head and straddling her waist. He smiled, and she shivered, pushing against the bonds his hands formed over her wrists. He leaned close and claimed her mouth roughly, his fangs drawing blood. She responded to the kiss by drawing his lower lip into her mouth, tugging on it with her teeth. His hips ground against her, and Buffy bit down as hard as she could on his lip, tearing the flesh and leaving it dripping blood. He roared in pain, and she spat their mingled blood into his face, blinding him. She gathered her strength and rolled them both over, reversing their positions and attempting to trap him as he had her. 

He laughed, blood droplets smeared over his handsome face, and pushed his hips upwards to meet hers. He licked at his lower lip, worrying the torn flesh, teasing it with his tongue, drawing more blood from the wound. 

"I should have known you'd want to be on top." 

Buffy frowned, then rolled her hips back, let go of his hand, and smashed her elbow as hard as she could into his stomach. He gagged, kicking upwards with his legs to throw her off his body. He unsteadily pulled himself onto all fours, then sat back heavily when Buffy caught him under the chin with the toe of her boot. She punched him in the face, pressing her advantage, and he fell backwards. A surge of adrenaline coursed through her as she aimed a kick at the side of his head. She was going to win. He rolled out of the way, then rose into a crouch. 

She advanced on him, her muscles taut, ready, almost eager to unleash more punishment on his weakening body. She didn't have a stake, or knife, but she was sure she could think of some way to kill him with her bare hands. She almost liked the idea of taking his life herself, without any help from a weapon. He rose to his feet, his eyes meeting hers. She punched outward toward his face, and he deflected the fist with his hands. She kicked at him, sending her heel into his knee. He staggered, and she grabbed a hank of his hair, pulling his head up forcibly while she prepared to drive her fist down into his face. 

"How do you like me now, lover?" she mocked. 

His eyes moved from her fist to her determined glare. She blinked once and when she opened her eyes, his human face was back in place, spattered with blood. She hesitated, her fist hovering in confusion and bit by bit the anesthetized parts of her soul began to tremble and wake. She blinked again, feeling as if the air that surrounded her was pushing against her, slowing her, slowing everything. He didn't take advantage of her pause, but waited quietly, his eyes on hers, his neck tilted at an uncomfortable angle. She pulled her gaze away from him, and looked up, seeing the room around her for the first time. Her glance caught on the door in front of her and held. It was open. But was that the door she had chosen? She turned, dragging Angelus with her by her grip on his hair. Everything seemed distant; there were no sounds but the shifting of the dirt beneath her feet. All three of the doors were open. She focused on the vampire in grasp. She pulled her foot back; she tensed her fist. Her eyes filled with tears. She blinked away the blurriness and looked into his brown eyes once more. With a soft cry, she released her grasp and ran down the first tunnel she saw, no idea where she was going, no idea if it was a dead end, only wanting to escape this hell. Only wanting to deny that she was at this point again; that she would have to kill him again. She choked on the pain that burned through her, scalding her from the inside out, and ran. 

Angelus watched her flee, his bloody bottom lip stretching as he smiled. He put his hand to the wound and laughed. The games would begin. 

* * * * * * * * 

Angel woke in a small dark cave, only large enough to allow him to take three or four steps in any direction. He groaned as pain and cold registered through the dissipating haze of unconsciousness. He pressed his hand to his pounding forehead, and his fingers came away bloody. He stared at the red smear, smelling the copper scent of the liquid, and his brow wrinkled in puzzlement. He felt nothing, no hunger. 

With a gasp, he sat up straight, nearly bashing his head on an outcrop of rough granite. His hand flew to his chest, and he gasped again, swallowing another lungful of air. Fear and confusion battled with awe, the emotions flitting across his face as he felt his heart thud against his ribcage. The pounding was echoed in the throbbing of his skull. He closed his eyes, rubbing his forehead with the palms of his hands. His grimace of pain became a sudden small smile when he sucked in another breath of oxygen, the dank cave air tasting than any he had breathed before. The smile disappeared when his headache subsided enough to allow him to look around his small prison. A worried frown creased his face as he realized that his oxygen supply wouldn't last long in a sealed cave this small. Twenty-four hours earlier that wouldn't have been a problem, but now, now he was suddenly dependent on breathing again. 

He stood up, his head almost touching the top of the small cave, and pushed against one of the rough walls. He felt along the rocks with his fingertips, his night vision no longer sharp enough to see any detail in the unlighted cave. His fingers discovered a small crack in the rock, and he punched against it with the heel of his hand. He cursed as his hand collided with the rock and a loud crunch echoed in the small space. Cradling the hand, he sat back down to think. 

None of this made any sense. It was as if he were human again. But how could he be? And how had he gotten into this place if there were no openings anywhere? And why had the demons brought him here? Buffy. What had happened to her? He curled in on himself, pulling his coat more tightly around himself. The material was looking worse for the wear, but it offered some warmth. He began to shiver, trying to take only shallow breaths. Staring into the dark, at the rock all around him, he listened to his teeth chattering and the thumping of his heart. 


	3. Three Doors: Part Three

_Like a fire I'm drawn to her lust_   
_I can't run from her but Lord I must_   
_Like a demon I'm drawn to her flame_   
_I'm gonna burn calling her name_   
  
_Mountain_   
_-Tonic_

**Three Doors**   
**Part Three**

Angelus studied the three open doorways. Each of them led to a different tunnel, but he could see the end of none of them. He took a step toward the tunnel Buffy had run down, fighting the desire to simply chase her until they collided and one of them ended up dead. He could still taste the copper of her blood on his tongue, and he craved more. He wanted to bury his nose in her hair, and his teeth in her neck, and tear... He clenched his fist. No good. She had almost beaten him; and she had run away in tears. If he fought her now, she'd either fall apart completely, or kill him. Neither of those options were what he wanted, what he planned. When they fought for the last time, it would be on his terms. He wanted her strong, not a weepy mess. But he also had no intention of dying. 

He tapped his tongue against his teeth thoughtfully. He had no idea how he'd gotten into the tunnel she'd opened. He had woken up there just moments before she had flown crying into his arms. He vaguely remembered the demons, but nothing after the cages had been separated. Whatever had happened, he was fairly sure there was nothing to be gained in going down that tunnel; it was most likely a dead end. So the third tunnel it would be. He ducked his head as he passed through the wooden doorway and entered the unlit tunnel, walking quickly away from the small room and the glow of torchlight. 

The darkness surrounded him completely after a few steps. The silence in the small, dank space was broken only by the consistent, soft slap of his shoes against the uneven surface of rock and grit beneath him. He moved easily and confidently, at home in the blackness, content to simply follow where the tunnel would lead and devote his thoughts to other concerns. It did concern him, not knowing how he'd been freed. But the important thing was that it had happened, that he was pure, untainted once more. And that he stay this way. This time there would be no new curse. He would make sure of that before anything else. He'd kill the witch, Willow, who'd cursed him the last time. But more than kill her, he wanted to make her scream for screwing with his plans. He wanted to make her bleed, to taste her innocence and rip it from her. He wanted to open her eyes to the fact that good did not win every battle and the darkness would not bow to her whims. He wanted to see the realization dawn on her face that her precious Slayer wouldn't save her this time. He would buy his safety with her life, her fear. Then he'd kill the Watcher too, just in case. A quick death to make sure he finished the job he'd started the last time. He spat against the ground, his face contorting with ill controlled disgust at the thought of the last time, of his failure. It would not happen again. 

Once he was sure he didn't have to worry about being stuck with that worthless soul again, he could concentrate on the things that really mattered. Like Buffy. He rubbed his hand languidly across his chest. He had almost forgotten what it felt like to have her underneath him, and he was betting she had too. Her confusion during the fight had been so thick in the air he could almost taste it, feel it on his tongue. Not that he was quite arrogant enough to believe she would fuck him. But he was more than willing to use her confusion to his full advantage. He knew as well as she did the longing she had for his body, the unsatisfied need. 

He growled softly. He knew as well as she did. He remembered the way he had felt when he still had the soul, his own longing for her, his own desire for her body; but more than that he remembered his worship of her, his love of her. He hated her for the fact that his body remembered the need just as hers did, and he hated her for the fact that every glimpse of her face, every thought of her name, brought forth another memory. Memories of tenderness, of laughing, of soft kisses, and more urgent ones, of comforting and healing. He growled again, rubbing at the sides of his head. 

It was infuriating having these memories, feeling those feelings, or the soft echoes of them that came with remembering. The echoes were more than enough, leaving him feeling disgusted with himself, weak. It made him want to vomit, or to kill. It made him want to cover himself in blood, gorge himself on death until he could no longer remember anything but the glory of the hunt, the rush of adrenaline, the pure pleasure in the fear, and the kill. He balled his fists, his muscles tense, his eyes narrowed. 

He felt like his insides were crawling. He felt like his brain was screaming. He wanted. He lusted. He needed. He craved. Blood. Death. Chaos. Buffy. 

Damn her! 

He turned with sudden speed and rammed his fist into the nearest outcropping of rock. The wall cracked, and his hand screamed in agony. He reveled in the pain, laughing as it drove deep inside him, almost deep enough to weed the bitch out. He smashed his other fist into the wall as well, pieces of rock sifting to the ground. He became a blur of motion, slamming his fists and feet into unforgiving rock, the scent of his own blood as his knuckles split only sending him into a greater fury. He tore at chunks of rock, pulling them from the wall. He screamed wordlessly, straining the veins in his neck with the force of his anger. He scraped with his fingernails until they bled, and pieces of them lay on the floor with the broken rock. 

When his fury was spent he stood quietly, his eyes on the rubble around him, on the holes and fissures he had torn into the tunnel wall with his bare hands. He licked the blood from his fingers slowly, savoring it, savoring the grit and dirt of the destruction he had caused. 

This was what he lived for. Destruction. And he would destroy her. One way or another; whatever it took. He would destroy her, or destroy himself in the process of trying. There was no other option, and he was glad of it. He desired nothing more than the simplicity of tearing her apart as he had the wall. 

He continued walking down the tunnel, ignoring the pain that trailed up and down his limbs. It would heal, and until it did he would savor it. 

* * * * * * * 

Angel pressed his ear against the crack in the wall of his prison. He had slipped into a dazed sleep, but was quickly wakened by pounding on the other side of the wall. Questions had filled his mind as breath once again filled his lungs and pain battered his stiff body, but he brushed them away. Escape first and the answers would come. He had screamed out for help once, then realized he had no idea if it was friend or foe on the other side of the wall and waited until the noises subsided. All seemed quiet. 

He began to work his fingers into the large cracks in the rock. He dug and pulled away crumbling rocks and dust. Slowly he scraped at the rocks until a hole began to form. Angel scratched against the rock, eager now that an escape was almost in sight. He fingernails broke and his fingers bled, but he continued to push and pull at the hole. He forced the rock to continue crumbling until a pile of rubble lay around him, and the hole was big enough to crawl through. 

He shrugged off his coat, realizing its bulk would be too much for the small hole that offered escape. He reached his arms through the hole, wincing as the rough edges tore at his shirt, tearing easily through it to scrape at his shoulders as he squeezed his head and arms through the small opening. His arms free, he braced them against the other side of the wall of rock, pushing with all his strength to force his body through. Jagged stone teeth found him through the tears in his clothes; he stung and ached as the sides of his body were battered, his muscles protesting the abuse. 

His arms trembled with exertion, but he continued to push, resting for brief seconds, then straining again. Once enough of his body was through the hole to allow him to fall forward, he caught himself with his weakened arms. He crawled out into the tunnel, dragging the rest of his body through the shards of broken rock. His feet scraped over the edge of the hole and fell to the ground. He lay still a moment, his cheek pressed to the rock beneath him, and tried to catch his breath. The painful bite of the uneven surface he rested on became too much, and he rose slowly to his feet. 

He looked at the scrapes that trailed over his arms and legs, at the several places where his shirt clung to wet slicks of blood, soaked through with the liquid. He touched a few of the cuts that dug deepest into his flesh, and hissed at the renewed sting of pain that greeted the probing. Assured that none of the injuries were serious, he looked down the tunnel in each direction. There was no way of knowing which way to go, where either direction led. He closed his eyes, trembling slightly. He opened them and looked at his hand, watching the tremors that shook him, too inexperienced with humanity to judge how much more his body could take. He turned to the right, and took a step. He swayed with hunger, his stomach growling softly. How long had it been since he'd eaten? He took another step, clenched his jaw against the weakness and the sore ache that jolted his muscles with every movement. He thought of Buffy: her warmth, her smile, her voice. And he took another step, and another. 


	4. Three Doors: Part Four

_and you   
did you suffer much   
did you close your eyes   
just to see the night   
rush on by   
  
gathered all around you   
hope that we don't   
let you down again   
i said i'm so glad to be here   
does it mean a thing   
if only i could breathe   
what you breathe   
if only i could see what you see   
  
Breathe   
-- Moist_

**Three Doors**   
**Part Four**

Buffy's heart thudded against her ribs, and her breath came in harsh gasps. Her muscles burned with every stride. She could see nothing through the tears that streamed unheeded down her cheeks. The darkness was all encompassing, the ground in the tunnel uneven. She was blind and deaf to all but the thundering roar of her blood pounding in her ears and the voice inside her head pushing her onward with the urgency of panic; she could not stop running. 

The first rush of speed had come simply from the fear of pursuit. She could hear his footsteps behind her, could almost smell the scent of him. She wanted only to put distance between them, to run until she forgot why she fled, until she forgot his face and the feel of his hands on her body. She wanted to forget the way her body responded to his touch, the feel of his lips crushed against hers. She ran as if increasing the physical distance between them would mean an escape from the spiral of fear and self-hatred. As if running would somehow free her, and she would wake up in Angel's bed, and she would cry her fear into his chest, and they would laugh once the tears had dried. Most of all she ran to forget the look in his eyes as he waited patiently under her grasp for her fist to fall. She ran to forget that her body and heart had betrayed her, that she was once again too weak to overcome her doubt and confusion and do her duty. 

The rational part of her recognized that he was not behind her, but she continued to run. Perhaps because the pain that began to burn in her chest as her heart labored to keep up with her pace distracted her from the pain that pierced her more deeply than any other wound. She could feel the rent in her soul that she had spent so long repairing, that she had left Sunnydale to heal, torn open again. She felt it like the slashing of claws, like the tip of a knife, like the heat of a fire. She felt it like the death of a lover at her own hand. 

So she ran until her legs trembled with the effort, unaware or uncaring of the danger she faced running blind in a tunnel that could dead-end at any moment or twist unexpectedly. She simply lifted her limbs, moving through the motions, allowing her body to feel this pain because it was so much less hurt than she knew followed behind her, just waiting for her to stop, just waiting to catch up and devour her whole. 

Her toe caught on the edge of a rock that broke the surface of the tunnel floor, and she stumbled, falling to the earth, holding out her hands too late to catch her fall. The air was expelled from her lungs, and she lay on the ground, her mouth open as she tried to suck in another breath. Her eyes stared sightless into the dark, and she pulled herself to her feet, not even waiting to catch her breath as another surge of panic hit her. When her limbs swung into motion this time, she ran not for herself but for her friends. Every moment wasted was a greater chance that when she emerged above ground she would find he had already beaten her, that all was lost and she was too late. 

She ran with her hands outstretched now, all too aware that a sudden turn in the tunnel's path could leave her unconscious if she hit the wall at a dead run. She couldn't afford that kind of mistake. Too much depended on her. She thought of Willow and Xander and Giles, unaware of what had happened, defenseless. She thought of what it must have been like for Jenny Calendar, the terror that must have overwhelmed her in those final seconds. She could almost hear the way it must have sounded when her neck was broken, the unforgiving crack of bone. A sob burst from Buffy's mouth and her chest heaved. She could see them, any one of them, in his grasp, the knowledge of their own death in their eyes, the knowledge that once again she had let them all down. Once again she was too weak to do her job, to kill him when she had the chance. It was her fault. Their deaths would be on her head. 

She ran until she lost all track of time. Her sense of reality warped and twisted under the pressure of the emotions that crashed through her. She thought she had been running for days, that she ran in place, that she was trapped in one small space to run until her heart gave out and she collapsed. She wondered how much longer it would be before hunger or the trembling in her exhausted limbs became too much. She began to think she would never see the sun again. 

And when she had almost begun to give up hope, to stop caring whether she died so long as she did it soon, she began to make out the sides of the tunnel. The light brightened as she continued to run, never glowing yellow, but illuminating just enough for her to run without fear of dashing her brains out against a rock. She pumped her legs faster, forcing her reluctant body to respond and in a few seconds she found herself running on a carpet of fallen leaves instead of rock, surrounded by trees and stars that peeked through the branches above her head. 

She did not know exactly where she was, and she hesitated a brief moment to take in her surroundings. She looked up at the sky until she found the moon, feeling her exhausted muscles stiffening at even a brief moment of stasis. She chose her direction, heading east, pushing her body to the height of its ability. She would be fine tomorrow, but she couldn't be sure the others would if she hesitated even one second. 

Her mind tumbled, fragments of ideas whirring against her skull, as her feet pounded the earth in a steady rhythm. Where to go? What to do? Who to tell? She flinched, her jaw clenching at the thought of telling them. She had been too worried to think about anything but their safety. Now she contemplated the awkwardness of explaining what had happened. Tell Giles that Angelus was back, his torturer, the murderer of his lover? Tell Xander he had been right after all? Tell Willow the sacrifices she had made to attempt the spell were useless? Tell them all that after grudgingly letting Angel back into their lives, into their family, those wounds they had let heal were to be rubbed with salt and lemon juice once more? How could she do it? 

She slipped on a patch of damp leaves and fell to one knee. She rose slowly, and walked a few feet, knowing her body needed rest. But each step she took fell faster than the one before, and soon she was running again. She could vaguely hear the hum of civilization, a random car that roared by, the buzz of electricity as it crackled in streetlights and porch lights. And then she passed through a row of trees and found her feet hitting the black tar of a road. She glanced around her, realizing she was only a few blocks from Giles' building. Her legs moved faster and she sprinted the rest of the way, her feet slapping against the pavement, breaking the silence of the night that would so soon become day. 

"Too late." The phrase knocked against her skull, taunting her. Her heart beat the rhythm. "Too late." Oh God. She clenched her fists. She reached the sign post at the end of Giles' block, each step closer to his apartment convincing her more firmly that she had failed. She was too late. They were dead, all of them. It was her fault. Her fault. She swallowed a scream of frustration and panic, gritting her teeth. 

Then she was inside the apartment complex. She was at Giles' door. She banged on it with her fist, using enough force to rattle the door in its frame. She banged again, and again, not caring if she woke the neighbors, not caring about anything but the unshakable idea that Angelus was in there killing Giles this very minute, and she was outside doing nothing about it. She pulled back and placed her foot, preparing to kick the door in. 

It swung open, and her dizzy gaze took in the figure of Giles in his bathrobe, his eyes tired and bleary behind his glasses, his hair rumpled, his breath smelling of countless cups of coffee. 

"Buffy," Giles said, the tension in his shoulders easing. "Thank God." Buffy began to cry, relief ripping through her so strong it hurt, tightening her chest and throat so she could not speak. Her legs gave out, and she sank boneless to the floor, aching everywhere. Her overworked muscles refused to move again. Her chest heaved as she gasped great gulps of air, trying to catch her breath. 

"Good Lord," Giles murmured, sinking to his knees. He slipped one arm under Buffy's knees and the other behind her back. He lifted her, holding her firm against his chest and she clung weakly to his bathrobe, her eyes leaking tears, her chest still hitching violently with each breath. 

"Can you speak?" he asked softly, his worry changing swiftly from the rapid, frantic fear for her safety that had kept him awake all night to a gentler concern. He placed her on his couch, and she tried to slow her labored breathing, to calm herself enough to allow the words to escape. 

"Get the others here," she gasped. 

"Why? What's happened?" Giles asked, curiosity joining the worry that shaped his features. Buffy gulped another breath, opening and closing her mouth without the power to answer. His lips pursed as he noticed that her hands shook, and she was covered in dirt. Specks of dried blood flaked below her lower lip like rust. He pulled a blanket from the recliner next to the couch and draped it over her, then hurried to the phone. 

"Tell them..." she gasped. Giles paused, leaning toward her to catch the words as she spat them in between gasps. "Angelus. Back. Hurry. Get. Faith to. Bring them. Safer..." Giles' eyes widened, then narrowed, and his finger hovered uncertainly over the phone as thoughts and angry concerns filled his mind. But he did not betray his emotions, or question Buffy's broken statement. He nodded once and turned back to the phone, his fingers dialing the numbers he knew so well. 

Buffy shivered under the blanket although her body was hot, too hot. Sweat streamed from every pore, and every muscle seemed to burn through her clothes, but inside she was cold. She pulled the blanket tighter, and continued trying to control her breathing. Gradually it slowed, and though her body was gripped with pain, some of her panic had faded. 

Giles returned from the kitchen, and knelt beside the couch. He touched the back of his hand to Buffy's forehead and flashed a worried frown. 

"You're burning up." 

"It's just from the run." 

"But you have the chills. It could be a fever, Buffy." Buffy shivered again. How was she supposed to explain that it wasn't a virus gripping her innards with cold? It was his touch. His fingers gripping her arms, his lips, his body. He had put the ice inside her. Buffy gingerly sat up, pulling away from Giles' hand. 

"It's not that." 

"What's happened, Buffy? You've been gone for almost two days with no word. I was -- we were worried about you." Buffy smiled slightly despite herself, feeling her affection for her Watcher chip at the other emotions which paralyzed her. She knew how desperately he must want to shout his questions about Angelus, or shake her until the answers fell fast from her lips, but he wouldn't push her. 

"The others are on their way?" 

"Yes. They'll be here in minutes." 

"Angelus is back," Buffy whispered, her voice breaking. Giles looked down at his clenched hands, staring at his white knuckles. He said nothing. "Giles." 

He looked up, as if hearing her for the first time, and his eyes met hers. He saw the horror and the doubt in her gaze, the desperate need for reassurance. And he opened his mouth to give it, but when he tried to speak he found he had no voice. He tried again. 

"Please, Buffy. You must tell me about the last two days." Buffy blinked away the tears that welled in her eyes, more tears, what good were they? She pulled the blanket tighter. 

"Angel and I were captured by some demons. We woke up in cages, in some caves, and we couldn't get out. They came and separated us." She swallowed hard, unable to meet Giles' eyes. Her gaze drifting away from reality and into the past as she forced herself to remember. "I got taken to this really big demon. A rock knocked me out. The demons made me chose one of three identical doors. Angel was behind one. Monsters behind the others. I thought I picked right. But it was Angelus. We fought." She stopped overcome with disgust at herself, and spat the rest. "I ran." Her face crumpled and she held her breath, fighting the raggedness that crept back into her breathing. Giles heard the change in her voice, saw the pain she fought to deny. "Oh my God, Giles. I don't know what to do. I don't know..." Giles impulsively wrapped his arms around her, and she hugged him hard in return, clinging to him. She pulled back, looking at his face. 

"You must hate me. I failed you." Again, her mind added. Again and again. 

"Buffy, I could never hate you," he looked as though he would say more, but his mouth twisted instead, and his eyes closed briefly as if against a burst of sudden pain. Buffy looked at him doubtfully, knowing that all of the loss and horror of the year before must be crashing against him, wondering whether he blamed her, hated her. She tried not to cry. 

"I should have killed him. Damn it! I should have when I had the chance. This is all my fault. This is my fault." She burst into tears, harsh sobs that rocked her body with their force. Her lips twisted into a grimace, and she gulped on each burst of sound she uttered. 

Giles sat back on his heels, his face carefully blank. Nausea twisted in his stomach, and he felt as if a hand squeezed his heart in an unforgiving grasp. He wanted to speak, but it was hard enough to breathe. He closed his eyes, and behind his eyelids he found Angelus' smirk, he felt again the searing pain of Angelus' touch on his body, he saw Jenny's eyes staring into his own from a bed of rose petals, her neck tilted at an impossible angle. He opened his eyes and found he had been holding his breath. His eyes rested on the Slayer, on the pain that incapacitated her, and he knew there was no time for fear. Perhaps tonight he would dream of things past, but right now, he would push it all aside. 

He held out a hand to Buffy, and she gripped it tight in her own. 

"I'm sorry, Giles," she whispered, her eyes watery, her face twisted and red. 

"This is not your fault," Giles said, inserting as much confidence into his voice as he could. "This is some demon's game, and you can't blame yourself for that. We'll just have to figure out more about this demon. And you can take care of it once you kill Angelus." He spoke quickly, his tone clipped and businesslike. This was just another night, just another monster to deal with, same as always. Buffy smiled faintly. 

"Right." She wiped at her cheeks, taking a deep shaky breath. "First we need to figure out how it happened?" 

"You don't think it's the same way as last time?" Buffy snorted and raised her eyebrow in response. 

"I seriously doubt the demons somehow forced him to...you know...with them." 

"Well, it had to have been a moment of true happiness, didn't it?" 

"I don't know. I don't see how he could have experienced that." Her brow furrowed. "It wasn't a happy situation." 

"I'll look into it. There may be a way to strip the soul forcibly, and..." A knock interrupted Giles' train of thought, and he turned to look at the door. Buffy met his eyes, and hastily wiped again at the tracks of her tears, taking another shuddery breath. She nodded at him, and he moved cautiously to answer the knock. 

"Who is it?" 

"It's us, Giles," Xander's voice answered. Giles opened the door a crack, then wider when he saw Willow, Faith and Xander on the doorstep. They had obviously run; their faces red, sweat dripping from their temples. He nodded to each of them and stepped away from the door. Willow offered a tiny smile as she slipped inside, but Xander's jaw was set, his mouth in a hard line. Faith swaggered in after them, her hands tucked in her back pockets. 

"Did you have any problems getting here?" Giles asked as the others gathered next to the couch. Buffy sat up, tucking herself into a corner of the sofa, the blanket tight around her body. Willow sat next to her, extending her hand, palm up, and Buffy grasped it eagerly. She answered Willow's hesitant smile with an unexpected hiccup, the remnant of her tears, then turned up the corners of her lips briefly. She nodded to Faith, then looked back down at the hand she had joined with Willow's when Xander steadfastly refused to meet her gaze. 

"No action," Faith said with a disappointed shrug. "It looks like the sun'll be up in about half an hour so I'd say we're good for another twelve, maybe thirteen hours." 

"You said something about Angelus?" Xander's voice was cold and hard. Buffy winced, then forced herself to speak, forced her voice to steady itself. 

"He's back." 

"How? You had sex with him?" Xander asked, his voice growing even colder, each word dropping against Buffy's ears like stinging hail. Her eyes narrowed. 

"Of course not. How can you even ask me that?" 

"It's a legitimate question, B," Faith interjected. "Last time he lost it when you guys did the nasty, right? So, don't get all offended innocence here." 

"I don't expect any of you to understand," Buffy snapped. "But I would never put you guys in danger like that. Knowing the consequences. You think I *like* not being able to sleep with my boyfriend?" 

"No, we don't. That's kind of our point," Faith said with a shrug. "Self-control can only take you so far, B. Sometimes even you must be dying for a little....ugh!" She thrust her hips forward and smothered a grin. 

"That's quite enough," Giles said, raising his hand in a calming gesture. "There is no point in attacking one another. We have a dangerous enemy, perhaps more than one, to face, and the situation will not be improved by jumping to conclusions and accusations." Xander lowered his eyes, and stood silent. 

"What did happen, Buffy?" Willow asked softly. 

"I don't know exactly. We were captured by demons, and I had to choose a door. They told me Angel was behind one. But Angelus was behind the one I chose," Buffy said. She spoke quickly, spitting out the words before they had a chance to hurt her. Angel was gone. She had to simply face that fact. She lifted her chin and glared, forcing Xander to meet her gaze. 

"How could they just turn Angel into Angelus? That doesn't make sense," Xander said skeptically. 

"I know it doesn't. Don't you think I know that?" Buffy asked, her face reddening. His jaw twitched as he took in her bloodshot eyes and her ragged appearance. She was clearly on the edge, still shaky, still in pain. He clenched his fist, fighting against the sympathy that threatened to overwhelm him. He had warned them about something like this, and he couldn't afford to just let it go. This time, it had to end. 

"Perhaps if you describe the demon you told me of in more details I could alleviate some of the confusion," Giles said. 

"Right," Buffy agreed. "Well, it was huge for one thing. Maybe ten feet tall, with horns even taller. Really hairy. And its voice... I didn't actually hear it with my ears. It was in my head telling me things while I was unconscious, and I remembered them. Its voice was really loud, but beautiful too. Overpowering." 

"Are you sure you didn't just imagine the voice while you were out cold?" Faith asked with a smirk. 

"It wasn't like that. I can't describe it." 

"That's all well and good, and I hate to say I told you so, but we have an evil vamp on the loose with the hobby of killing your friends," Xander interrupted. "Again. What are you going to do about that?" 

"I'm going to take care of it," Buffy said softly 

"Like you did last time?" Xander asked, crossing his arms over his chest. 

"Shut up, Xander," Willow ordered. 

"I'm just trying to make sure it doesn't happen again." 

"It won't," Buffy said firmly. 

"Agreed," Faith said. She cracked the knuckles in her right hand, and smiled slowly. "I'm actually looking forward to getting a crack at him. Seeing as how I missed out on the fun last time." Willow shook her head, her lips tightening with anger. She squeezed Buffy's hand in her own. 

"What about the curse? I can do it again." Xander opened his mouth to answer, but Buffy beat him to it as a decision that had been forming slowly snapped into focus. 

"No." Willow looked at her best friend, a little hurt by the rejection. "Nothing to do with you, Will. I'm really grateful for the offer, but it's too late for that." 

"Buffy's right," Giles agreed. "When we thought we understood the trigger, there was reason to hope the change would not happen again. But now..." 

"It's too dangerous," Buffy finished. "We can't risk him coming back again after this." Her lower lip twisted briefly, but she kept the tears from falling. "Besides, maybe Angel's happier wherever he is. And it's not like any of you are going to miss him." She smiled bitterly at the floor. Giles and Willow glanced at each other, hurt tightening their features. Xander squeezed the bridge of his nose with his fingers, but none of them denied it. Buffy drew in a breath through her nose and expelled it in a forcible sigh, but did not apologize. Then she continued in her professional tone of voice. "The most important thing right now is to make sure we revoke the invitations right away instead of waiting like last time." 

"And make sure Cordy and Oz know about this," Xander added. 

"What about Wesley?" Willow asked. They all hesitated, not wanting to deal with the new Watcher's attempts to control their actions. 

"It would be almost impossible to keep it from him," Giles said resignedly. 

"And there's some chance he could help," Willow added with reluctance. "With the research or something." 

"I guess we have to tell him," Buffy decided. 

"I can do the revoking spell," Willow offered. 

"And I'll start researching this demon. The voice sounds familiar; there are only a few breeds that communicate without speech," Giles said, his mind already cataloguing the books which might hold promising information. 

"I'll make the calls to the others," Xander said. 

"B and I'll talk strategy. We've got a vamp to dust," Faith concluded. 

"Great," Buffy said. "That's everything I guess." They all stayed where they were a moment longer, the unsaid words lying heavy between them. But none of them felt ready to say the things they all knew were there. Apologies, accusations, anger, guilt and pain filled the room around them. But those emotions would have to wait until it was over, until the pain had faded enough to be spoken. Xander's hand jerked, as if he would extend it, but he turned away instead and walked to the phone. His movement spurred the others. Giles touched Buffy on the shoulder as he crossed to the stairs. Willow gave her friend a quick hug, pulling away when she felt Buffy shudder against her. It was too soon for comfort. Kindness and sympathy would only bring the pain into stark relief. Buffy smiled at her friend, brushing a strand of red hair out of the witch's eye, thanking her silently. Then Willow went to the bookcase to find the spellbook she needed. Faith plopped into her place on the couch, and Buffy braced herself. It was beginning, and this time she would end it before anyone got hurt. She rolled her head from side to side, cracking her neck. 

"So," Faith said, "what's it like?" 

"What're you talking about?" Buffy asked. 

"I mean, your lover's dead, but you kind of have to kill him again." She pulled a piece of gum from her pocket. "That's gotta suck." 

"Yeah well, I've been through it before." Buffy snatched the gum from Faith's hand, and popped in into her own mouth. "Don't think I can't handle it, because I can." 

"I'm not trying to say that," Faith answered. "But if you have any problems, this time I'll be there to finish the job. Like insurance." 

"Don't get cocky," Buffy said. "You don't know him. He could rip you to shreds." 

"So what's his weakness?" Faith asked, pulling out another piece of gum. "He got any?" 

"Me," Buffy answered; the smile that tugged at her mouth was cruel, almost a snarl, and Faith laughed. 

"Oh yeah, B. We're gonna have fun with this one." Buffy's smile faded, but she forced it back in place. She thought of the people she had to protect, and of the damage he had done last time. She thought of his smirk, and she thought of his arrogance. She let herself be warmed by her hatred of him. Her eyes grew hard, the tears long dried, and she faked a punch at Faith's arm. 

"More fun than a barrel of monkeys," she said grimly. She wasn't going to think about Angel's smile, or his gentle touches, or his arms around her, or falling asleep next to him, or... No, she wasn't going to remember any of that. Not until it was over. She'd kill the enemy, just like she always did. This was no different. Maybe afterwards, it would be. Maybe then she'd remember. But she'd already wasted enough time and tears and chances. It would not happen again. 

* * * * * * 

At some point the tunnels had turned into the sewers and eventually Angel had found a ladder leading out. He had been forced to stop a few times, sit against the wall of the tunnel and catch his breath, or wait for the weakness that clutched at his limbs to pass. Then he'd continue, his hands outstretched, his steps slow and careful. Now, he was in familiar territory. He pulled himself up the last rung of the ladder with shaky arms and pushed against the manhole cover. It didn't budge. His jaw clenched in frustration, and he fought the urge to simply give up now. He heaved against it, exerting all the strength he had left, and the metal disk lifted with a stubborn scraping sound. He pushed again and jerked back instinctively as a shaft of the pale, early morning sunlight entered the sewer. The sudden movement almost made him lose his grip on the ladder, and he cursed his stupidity, regaining his hold and moving out through the manhole into the street. 

He lay for a moment on the asphalt, which was already beginning to warm in the early morning light, and looked up into the brightening sky. He smiled up into the light blue above him, and a delighted laugh burst from his throat as he took in the streaks of pink and yellow that still highlighted the horizon. Part of him still quavered in fear, expecting at any moment to feel himself burn as the rays of sunlight hit him, but the larger part of him basked in the warmth of the sun on his face. 

The quiet roar of a car interrupted the moment, and he rose to his feet as quickly as he could, staggering to the sidewalk. There, his knees buckled, and he sat down heavily on the grass of someone's lawn. 

He looked around him, exhaustion claiming him, his limbs heavy and aching. His head dropped and hung between his bent legs and a wave of dizziness swept him. He looked up again, the sunlight dazzling his eyes this time, painfully brilliant. He squinted, blocking some of the light out and tried to read the street sign above him. Where was he? He turned to check the number on the house behind him, and felt one of the cuts on his back reopen. Wincing, he pulled himself to his feet and began to walk with shambling steps toward Giles' apartment. Only two blocks away. He shaded his eyes with his hand, and it helped a little with the glare, but it was still difficult for him to see. Each step was a struggle, but somehow his muscles kept working, though he kept expecting them to simply stop. 

It seemed impossible that the building was so close, for he felt he had been walking forever. Like a dying man in the desert with water only a few feet away, the last remaining distance seemed interminable. The glare of the sun made his head pound, everything around him was too bright, too jarring. His muscles betrayed him, reluctant to perform any task he asked of them. Pain ripped him apart, every nerve ending seemed awake and abused. There was nowhere he didn't hurt. 

He came within sight of Giles' house, and his slow pace quickened. He was almost there. Almost home. He stumbled across the lawn, breaking into an almost run, and his body rebelled. He doubled over, retching into the lawn, the bright blades of grass rubbing against his face and nose. He vomited into the earth, the acid burning his throat and mouth, the smell so strong his eyes filled with tears and his nose stung, the effort of his clenching muscles leaving him even more drained. He pulled himself closer to the apartment on his hands and knees, still gagging though there was nothing in his stomach. 

Crawling, he reached the door and tapped weakly on it. There was no answer, and he knocked again, his fist thumping against the barrier. He tried to call for help, but it came out a croak. He thought he heard movement behind the door, but he couldn't be sure if it was real or imagined. He wondered if he would die on the doorstep, so close to being safe. Then the door creaked open a bit, and Buffy's beautiful bright blue-green eye peeked through the crack. He felt himself smile despite the pain, but the eye disappeared and the door slammed shut, and he felt consciousness slip away. 


	5. Three Doors: Part Five

_It's not a habit, it's cool, I feel alive   
If you don't have it you're on the other side   
I'm not an addict (maybe that's a lie)   
  
Free me, leave me   
Watch me as I'm going down   
Free me, see me   
Look at me, I'm falling and I'm falling.   
  
Not an Addict   
-K's Choice_

**Three Doors**   
**Part Five**

Buffy stood with her left hand frozen around the doorknob and her right pressed flat against one of the designs that marked the wooden surface of the door. Her eyes were wide, her irises rimmed with white; her breath came too fast. Dimly she heard the others speak behind her, asking her what had happened, who it was. The voices ran together, indistinguishable through the roaring silence that blanketed her, separating her from the texture of the world. Then she heard her own voice. 

"Give me a stake." 

Her voice rode over the others, silencing them. She felt questions rise in their throats, held back only by her commanding tone. She heard movement behind her as someone advanced. Someone else lifted the cover of the weapons chest and sifted through its contents. Buffy raised her hand as the stake flew past her head and caught the weapon in a clenched fist without turning around. She couldn't afford to turn around, to allow herself to be distracted. She had to concentrate on the door, and on what was beyond it. 

She stared at the grain of the light brown wood in front of her; she did not blink. She pictured what she had seen just a moment before. She had only seen it for a second, or half a second, but the image was branded into her mind's eye. She studied the memory, wondering if she had imagined it, if her grip on reality was slipping. It was him, if anything was out there at all, if it wasn't a dream, it was him. She had known before she even saw his face. She closed her eyes for just a moment, the better to see the image locked inside her head. He was hurt. She opened her eyes. 

Somehow in the time it had taken her to run here, he had been hurt. She had not been the one to do it. The realization that she was offended by that shocked through the narrow focus she had forced herself into. She had a right to him, a right to be the one who hurt him or killed him, a right she did not like some nameless other being usurping. She acknowledged its foolishness but was unable to deny the feeling. She dismissed it and jerked open the door again, the stake raised. If he was hurt it would simply be easier. She felt a body next to hers and recognized it as Faith. She did not bother to look, concentrating her gaze on the door as it swung open, watching the spot on the doormat where she knew his body had lain. 

And still lay. 

Her muscles tensed and relaxed all at once; she felt the relief of knowing she was not hallucinating and the terrible anticipation of what would come next, terrible because she both dreaded and desired it. She knelt and reached over his head to drive the stake unwavering toward the target offered by a patch of sunlight that rested over his heart. 

She stopped the motion with the swiftness of Slayer reflexes; the stake touched the shirt that lay on the chest inside which hid his heart. She frowned. Sunlight. She looked over into the courtyard in front of her, up into the nearly cloudless sky, as if she would trace the path of the rays that angled under the overhang to prove they came from the sun. She felt rather than heard Faith move in on his side for the kill. 

The decision was made before her awareness caught up with her, before she realized she had made one at all. She simply moved. Her hands made contact with Faith's arms, blocking the attack the girl began, knocking her stake away. She heard the anger in Faith's voice, then heard the others move through the doorway and into the fray, but was too distracted to care. Something wasn't right, something didn't fit. She placed her hand over the patch of sunlight, feeling the warmth from above...and from below. 

His skin was hot, feverish, nothing like the dry chill she expected. She pressed her hand harder against his chest and felt movement under her fingertips. Not the movement of consciousness, but the vibration of his chest from the thud of a heartbeat. She gasped in slow motion, drawing in a long breath, and began to lean over him, to place her ear to his chest. Someone grabbed her from behind and tried to pull her away. She struggled against the pull, fighting to maintain contact just a few seconds more, to feel it again. 

"Buffy, get back." The world that had seemed so far away and hazy a moment before snapped back into close focus. She recognized the voice as Xander's. The hands that pulled her then were Giles'. Willow hesitated in the doorway. Faith had retrieved her stake, and advanced on the unconscious body. 

"No." Her voice was softer than she expected. She pulled one arm free of Giles' confining grasp. "Listen." Her voice was louder now, but Faith continued to advance. "STOP!" It was a raw scream, made painful by the desperation that tightened her throat. Giles' grip loosened for a moment, and she tore her other arm free. Faith paused, her foot planted on the man's abdomen, her body crouched and her hand raised to strike. She looked up at Buffy, her eyes glittering. 

"I will kill you," Buffy promised, her voice roughened by the scream. 

"I'd like to see you try," Faith said, unmoving. "Just because you can't kill him, don't give you the right to threaten me." 

"Let her do your job if you can't," Xander agreed. 

"Listen to me. I'm not some incompetent nutcase," Buffy said, turning to bat at the hand Giles extended to grasp her arm. "I'm the Slayer." 

"Then act like it," Xander said, motioning at the body beneath Faith's foot. 

"Or let a real Slayer do the job," Faith added. 

"There's a difference between Slayer and murderer," Buffy said, anger heating her words. "It you were a real Slayer you would be able to focus on more than the kill." 

"And if you weren't so high and mighty you'd remember that slay means kill. That's what we do, B." 

"Get the hell off him." 

"No," Faith spat. The two Slayers locked gazes, testing each other, their bodies clenched tight with tension. 

"Then explain to me why there's sunlight hitting him and he has a heartbeat, or I will take you the hell off him." 

"What do you mean?" Giles asked, moving to lean over the body. Faith looked briefly down at the prone figure beneath her, then returned her gaze to Buffy, her eyes narrowing. Willow knelt and placed two fingers against the pulse point on his neck. 

"The sun in coming in from there," Buffy said, pointing. "And I heard his heartbeat. Something weird is going on." 

Willow looked up, her eyes wide. "It's true, his heart is beating." 

"I know that," Buffy said, frustrated. "If any of you trusted me at all..." 

"It doesn't matter if he's in a human body or a vampire one," Xander interrupted, with a scowl. "Angelus is still a killer, and it's your job to kill him." 

"That doesn't make any sense," Willow interjected. "Giles, he couldn't be Angelus if he's human. How could the demon be in a human body without making it a vampire?" 

"How could he have lost his soul without having a moment of true happiness?" Giles countered. "None of this makes any sense. His humanity proves nothing." 

"But..." Buffy began. 

"But we cannot kill him until he's regained consciousness and we have a chance to question him about how this has happened," Giles finished. He looked at Faith and she eased her foot off Angel's chest, then stood up. Her gaze clashed with Buffy's, and she looked away. 

"No hard feelings, B, but I still say we should just kill him while we have the chance. Once he's awake all bets are off." 

"Look at him," Buffy said. "He's not exactly in shape for Olympic level fighting. He's bleeding and unconscious, when he wakes up he's going to be too worried about how crappy he feels to do any damage. If he's even still evil." 

"Are you certain he was not human when you fought him?" Giles asked. 

"Yes. Well, no," Buffy amended. "I didn't take time out to listen to his heartbeat if that's what you mean. But I don't see how a human could have stood a chance against me in a fair fight, and he stood." 

"A little bit heavy on the Slayer cockiness?" Xander asked with raised eyebrow. 

"You wanna try me?" Buffy returned, with a tight smile. Xander shook his head. 

"Point taken," he said. "We still can't be too sure." 

"We'll carry him up to my bed and immobilize him," Giles commanded. "It's impossible to determine anything while he's unconscious." 

"I'll do the immobilizing," Faith offered. "Tying men to the bedposts is my specialty." Willow rolled her eyes, and Faith curled her lip at the redhead. Buffy stepped between them. 

"Help me carry him up," she said. She slid her arms underneath his, inhaling the scent of him beneath the dirt and blood as her nose was buried in his hair. She pulled his torso up and locked her hands over his chest, hesitating as the familiarity of his body under her hands struck her like a crashing wave. She clenched her teeth and tightened her grip. Faith grabbed his legs; Willow held the door open as they lugged the body through. They carried him up the stairs, hoisting him a few steps at a time. Buffy noticed Faith's grip was none too gentle, and she wondered why she should care. Xander was right; Angelus was a killer no matter what shape he was in. But... She couldn't stop the thought from coming. What if it wasn't Angelus? If somehow whatever had taken his soul had continued to change him. He was human. 

She shivered. The idea of Angel being human was something she'd barely dared hope, something relegated to her wildest of dreams. And now that it was actually true, it tasted sour. She had gained what she wanted, but not for the man she loved. Fate had once again twisted her dreams until they were unrecognizable, giving what she desired for Angel to the thing that had killed him instead. Her lip curled as the two Slayers pulled his leaden body up the last step and moved toward Giles' bed. 

Giles entered the room carrying a pair of manacles. His footsteps faltered. The monster lay helpless in the bed where he had once placed Jenny Calendar's body, only the rose petals were missing. Giles allowed the briefest flicker of pain to cross his face as the irony struck him. Then he handed one pair of irons to Faith and used the other to lock their prisoner's right hand to the bedpost. Faith did the same on the other side, and they both moved back to survey their handiwork. Faith smiled, baring teeth. 

"Looks good on him." Buffy studied the figure on the bed, her head tilted. She willed him to wake up, to settle once and for all who or what he was. She had found the strength to live with killing Angelus, but she could not bear this uncertainty. She needed to know that she could hate him; she needed to separate him from the man she loved. This human who lay before her with his arms forced above his head, his face slack, blood still seeping sluggishly from a few of his wounds, this human was vulnerable. This man was warm. She could not bear the hope that sprung up with every labored breath he drew. She hated herself for hoping, and cursed herself for a fool, but she could not keep the anger she needed blazing. Her body strained to clean and comfort him, to heal him, to brush the limp, filthy strands of hair from his eyes, to lie next to him on the bed, mingling her warmth with his, listening to his heartbeat until he woke. 

She turned away, and left the room, hurrying down the stairs on stiff legs. Giles followed her down, and put his hand on her shoulder when he caught up with her in the living room. Xander and Willow came out of the kitchen and waited while Buffy turned to face her Watcher. 

"Buffy?" His voice was tentative, the question implied rather than spoken. 

"I'm fine," she said absently. 

"I believe Faith can handle the situation," Giles said. "You don't have to be here." There it was. The confirmation. They didn't trust her, didn't believe she could do the job. And she wasn't sure they were wrong. 

"You think I should have killed him out there?" It wasn't truly a question, but she phrased it as such. Giles' jaw clenched but he shook his head, and she looked to Willow who reassured her with the shake of her head. She turned her gaze to Xander. He shrugged, and she knew if the decision was his this would have ended last year. And she would have lost the time she'd shared with Angel after he'd come back. Was the time worth what was happening now? She bit her lip. 

"I just want to know what's going on," she said finally. "Last time the man I killed was not Angelus; I just want to make sure this time before it happens again. If it's possible that Angel is human..." she trailed off, her hands clenching. She shouldn't dare to hope, to speak it, or even think it; her hopes were always crushed. 

"And if it's not him?" Xander challenged. "Can you kill him?" 

"I'm not supposed to kill humans," Buffy said. "But I will if I have to." 

"He's not doing this to himself," Willow pointed out. "And as a human he's not as big a threat, so shouldn't we be focusing more on who did this and what they're going to do next?" 

"How can you be sure he didn't figure out a way to do it himself?" Xander persisted. 

"Yeah right, Xand. Like he's going to give up all his vampire strengths and beat himself up." 

"Well so far it's doing a good job of tricking you!" 

"You don't know that." 

"Children," Giles chided. "It seems obvious that the demon you encountered in the caves is the key. Somehow it is manipulating all of us." The Watcher returned to the book he had been reading before the knock on the door. "I'll continue to research, and perhaps whoever is upstairs will offer some sort of help when he awakens. 

"How are we supposed to tell whether he's evil or not anyway?" Xander asked. "All he has to do is lie and pretend." 

"I think I can tell the difference," Buffy said, wondering if she spoke the truth. She hadn't been able to tell the first time she'd seen him, when he'd cut her with the harsh words she'd believed were her lover's, when he'd tarnished the night they'd spent together. She winced at the memory, then shook her head slightly. She knew him better now. 

"Great," Xander said, unconvinced. "Your judgment is always so clear when it comes to Angel." 

"Oh, like yours is so great," Willow snapped. She challenged Xander with a look, then went to join Giles at the pile of books on the coffee table. Buffy and Xander locked eyes for a long moment, then he turned away with a disgusted sigh. She glanced at the others, then at the stairs. Her first instinct was that Angel needed some medical help. She gritted her teeth. He could easily be her greatest enemy, and she shouldn't care whether he was hurt or not. But what if... She stopped herself, and faced the others, this was getting her nowhere. She moved to pick up one of the books, but stopped as Faith's voice interrupted the silence. 

"He's waking up." 

* * * * * * 

Angelus knelt before the fireplace in the mansion on Crawford Street. By the time he had emerged from the tunnel into the outskirts of the forest, he had been able to taste the dawn on his tongue. The mansion offered the closest shelter, though he knew it would be the first place Buffy would look for him. The place stank of her, of memories, of his soul. But it would offer safety from the sun. And he would leave it soon enough, find a new place to stay, a place less loathsome. He would begin to make his presence known in Sunnydale once more. The other vampires would need to be reminded who their master was. He smiled. 

This was his favorite part, gathering the minions, forcing other vampires to obey him. He loved to dominate them, to hurt them, to kill some, to prove to both them and himself that he was more skilled, more vicious, more evil than they. Once he had them, the charm would fade. It always did. Their stupidity would begin to wear on him; maintaining command was not as much fun as gaining it. 

He stabbed at the still flaming embers of the fire with a poker, the orange tongues licking at the length of metal. He knew she would come, but he did not prepare. He did not move or worry. He only stared at the fire as it ate at her clothes, the change of clothes she had left after getting soaked once during a routine patrol. The fire crackled and spat as it consumed the cloth that had once covered her body, as it burnt away the scent of her. Angelus watched the material turn to ash and bared his teeth; he imagined her face in the flames, her body consumed, her bones turning to dust. He stirred the fire again, otherwise completely still. 

She would find him if he stayed; a part of him wanted to be found. 

  



	6. Three Doors: Part Six

_Still shaking   
Still in pain   
You put me back together again   
I was cold   
And you clothed me honey   
I was down   
And you lifted me honey   
  
Angel or devil   
I was thirsty   
And you wet my lips   
  
Trip Through Your Wires   
-U2_

**Three Doors**   
**Part Six**

Angel's eyelids fluttered. He tried to move his head and groaned as pain washed over him. He lay still until it passed from sharp stabbing against his skull into a dull ache. Slowly, he opened his eyes. He squinted, even the normal lighting of the room making his head pound harder. Faith stood next to the bed, her head tilted as she studied him with her arms crossed over her chest. 

"Faith." His throat was dry, and the word cracked in his mouth. He tried to swallow, to say something more since she seemed disinclined to fill the silence. His glance flew to the door as footsteps clattered up the stairs. When it burst open, Buffy entered the room first, followed by Xander and Willow, then Giles. Seeing them and sending a quick look around the room, he realized where he was, Giles' bedroom. He reoriented himself further as the memory of collapsing on the Watcher's doorstep returned. Buffy stopped farthest from the bed and stood to the side, her hand clenching and unclenching nervously by her side, while the others gathered near Faith. Angel watched the Slayer, wondering why she hadn't come closer. Her body was tense, her expression uncomfortable. His mouth twitched in puzzlement. He looked closer, the joy at seeing her alive fading as he noted the dirty, torn clothes. Her eyes were bloodshot, and her hair lay limp and tangled against her neck. Something had happened to her, something he could not remember. He hated his lack of control, his ignorance. He hated seeing her in pain and having no idea why or how to fix it. 

"He knows me," Faith said to the others. His throat worked as he tried again to swallow, then he spoke. 

"Of course I know you," he said, his voice still unable to rise above a whisper. 

"He remembered everything about when he had the soul last time too," Xander said. 

"What do you mean?" Angel asked, his brow furrowing. "Buffy?" He turned his gaze on the Slayer, but the look she gave him offered no explanation. When he locked eyes with her, her expression was torn between hate and doubt. Then she turned her gaze away. "Did something happen? In the caves?" 

The others turned to each other, reacting to his comments, but not answering him. They acted like he wasn't even here, or he was some science experiment, a lab monkey they were studying. Buffy looked back at the bed, and began to absently chew on her lower lip. Angel's frustration grew. If someone would just explain what had happened... 

"What if he really doesn't know?" Willow was saying. 

"Well, how can we be sure?" Xander asked. "He's evil, okay? And really tricky and cleverly psychotic, and did I mention evil?" 

"What?" Angel said, sucking in a surprised lungful of air. "Evil?" Fear tugged at his heart, and his gaze flew to Buffy again. He tried to reach a hand toward her, and couldn't. He turned his head slightly, wincing at the jolt of pain, to look at his left hand. The fact that he was chained to the bed had apparently escaped him in all the pain and confusion. He grunted. This was unbelievable. He suppressed the annoyance with himself that surged up like bile. His own incompetence was something that could be dealt with later. "Buffy, please." He tried again, pleading with her for an answer he was no longer sure he wanted to hear. "What's going on?" She bit down on her lower lip hard enough to draw blood he could no longer smell and took a step toward him, her eyes too bright. 

The others continued to argue, but he was no longer paying attention. He was focused on Buffy, willing her to make things clear, to touch him and set the world right side up again. 

"I know you're human," she said, her voice barely audible under the rising hum of the others. "I felt your heartbeat. And you were in direct sunlight." 

"Yes, I know," Angel said, relieved she was finally responding to him. "When I woke up in the caves I realized it. I had to breathe. I was cold. It was amazing." He stopped. "Buffy, tell me what's happened? Did I do something?" She looked at him, her face twisted with indecision. Her fists were clenched now, her knuckles white. She took another step toward the bed, her feet seeming to move of their own volition. 

"I don't know. Maybe." 

"I don't remember anything after the demons separated us," he said. "Then I woke up trapped in a tiny cave, and I was human. Something tore the wall apart, so I escaped through a tunnel. Then I came here. That's all I know." He tried to read her expression, but could only see pain in her eyes. His newly started heart beat faster as self-loathing ripped through him. "What did I do to you?" 

"We fought," she said, her eyes wide, her lips trembling. "Angelus and I. Maybe you and I." She shrank back at the reminder, and her hands shook with the effort of not moving closer to the bed. "I don't think you were human then, but I can't be sure. None of us know what's going on." 

"I understand," Angel said, subdued. He jingled the chains of the restraints lightly. "You did what you had to, that's good." Buffy nodded, not trusting herself to speak. "Whatever happened before," Angel began, "the demon's not in me anymore. I don't mean it's just under control. I mean it's not there at all. I can feel the absence of it." He looked for understanding in her face, but she covered the flicker of response with carefully guarded blankness. "How can I prove it to you?" he asked. 

"That's the whole problem, isn't it?" Xander said. Startled, Buffy turned to see that the others had gathered behind her, had stopped talking amongst themselves to listen. 

"I don't think he's evil," Buffy said, her voice stronger than it had been a moment earlier. 

"But can you be sure?" Faith asked, cracking the knuckles of her right hand. 

"No," Buffy said. "But I think we should assume he's telling the truth, that he doesn't know anything about Angelus. Innocent until proven guilty." 

"Doesn't work with murderous vampires who we already know are guilty of killing bunches of people," Xander said with a shake of his head. 

"Maybe," Buffy admitted. She tried to keep her gaze confined to the corner of the bed and the pattern of the bedspread, but her eyes kept wandering up to rest on Angel's body. "I'm not saying we should untie him. But what do we gain by treating him like he's our enemy? He could just as easily be good as evil." She paused. "We need to prove it one way or the other." 

"What about a truth spell?" Willow suggested. "I know I saw one in the Grimorean Rites. You've got that here don't you, Giles?" 

"Yes, quite a good idea, Willow," Giles agreed. "I don't know the spell offhand, but we should be able to find the ingredients fairly easily. I'll need someone to make a trip to the magic shop to pick up what I don't have here." 

"What time is it?" Buffy asked, her eyes still on Angel. She wouldn't meet his eyes, but she couldn't seem to tear her gaze away from his body. "Is the shop open?" 

"It's almost nine," Giles answered, after glancing at his watch. 

"Which reminds me that today is a school day and we're already late," Willow pointed out with a sigh. "Not that this isn't more important, because it is. But sometimes I wish saving the world counted as an excused absence." 

"But that would require life to be fair," Xander said in mock surprise. 

"Oh yeah, I forgot about the necessary unfairness quotient," Willow said, turning back toward the stairs. "I'll find the spell and make a list of the stuff we need," she said as she left the room. 

"I'll go to the store," Xander offered. 

"Excellent," Giles said. 

"I can stay with him," Faith suggested, nodding her head toward Angel. 

"No," Buffy said, just as Xander opened his mouth. Angel watched the small blonde girl's emotions flicker across her face. He barely kept himself from smiling; she had no real reason to believe him, but the fact that at least part of her did filled him with happiness despite his awkward position. 

"Why not?" Faith asked, frowning. 

"I don't want someone who's already condemned him to death in here with him ," Buffy said. 

"I'm waiting for the lie detector results just like everyone," Faith said, raising her eyebrow. 

"I'll stay with him," Buffy said. This time Angel was unable to keep his lips from turning up into the smallest of smiles. Dirty, tired, and confused, she was still the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. 

"Oh yeah, that's a great idea." Faith rolled her eyes. 

"Someone needs to look at the wounds," Buffy said, bracing herself for argument. 

"Because..." Xander asked. 

"Look if he's evil we're going to kill him anyway, so who cares what happens in the mean time. And if he's not someone should be looking at the wounds. He's human, they could get infected," Buffy said. 

"So you play a little game of doctor with the prisoner, get all close and lovey-dovey..." Faith said. 

"You think I would let him go? That I'd compromise any of you?" Buffy asked, forcing each of them to meet her angry gaze. Faith's eyes narrowed when she saw the shame that sparked in the others' faces. Her fists clenched, but she kept her mouth shut. 

"No," Xander said quietly. "I know you wouldn't." Buffy blinked her eyes, a smile of surprised gratitude blossoming on her face. 

"Okay then," she said. "Go do what you have to, I'll make sure bachelor number one doesn't go anywhere." 

"I'll go with Xander to get the supplies then," Faith said with a sigh. "But if anything happens I reserve the right to say I told you so...and kill the next demon lover any of you have, no questions asked." 

"Done," Buffy agreed. "If I ever end up with a whole new demon lover, you can reserve the right to kill me too." 

"I'll hold you to that," Faith said, pulling her lips back into a mock snarl. The brunette Slayer swaggered to the stairs, Xander on her heels. Giles turned to the man in his bed, and the Slayer who stood next to him, her hand resting on the bedspread just millimeters from his body. He sighed softly to himself, and bit down on the offer he had planned to extend to help her tend the wounds. He could tell none of the injuries were life-threatening. And he knew demanding to help her would only seem to show distrust. He took off his glasses and cleaned them with an agitated motion. Truth be told he would have preferred Buffy were as far away from the prisoner as possible. But he would not willingly undermine her already shaky confidence. 

"I'm going to help Willow prepare for the spell. We should have everything ready very shortly." He turned to go, then stopped and faced Buffy again. "If you need my help with anything, just call." The Slayer smiled, knowing how much it cost him to leave her with what could be the man who had killed his lover. He nodded once, and left the room. 

Buffy returned her attention to the figure in the bed. She studied the tears in his shirt and pants, noticing where the blood seeped through more heavily on a few of the cuts on his chest. He lay still, not talking, just letting her look. Then she touched his arm lightly, her fingers tracing the blood-stiffened fabric, and he loosed a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. 

"I'll have to cut off your shirt," she said. "There's no way to get it over the cuffs. 

"It's going in the garbage anyway," he answered. "Don't think it's possible to repair the damage at this point." She nodded slightly, her attention not focused completely on his words. He shivered under her gaze, his skin prickling at the thought of her hands cutting away the cloth that bound him. He tried to bury the thought, but couldn't keep from straining slightly toward her as she turned from the bed to rummage through Giles' dresser drawer. 

"No scissors," she said, her back still turned. She looked at the door, knowing she should just ask Giles to bring some scissors up from the kitchen. But for some reason she couldn't bear the thought of anyone else entering the room. Her body felt his nearness like a vibration. She could feel him behind her; she didn't need to see him to know his eyes were following the curve of her spine, her hips. She swallowed, her throat tight with the need to be near him. Part of her screamed that this was a mistake. She should get out now, but the other part of her reveled in having the perfect excuse to run her hands over him. 

She turned suddenly and returned to the bed. She tugged gently at one side of his shirt, then planted her right knee on the bed and swung her other knee over to straddle his body. Angel watched, his mouth fallen slightly open, his breath coming in soft pants, as she grabbed the fabric of his shirt in her hands. With Slayer strength she ripped it along each side, making short work of the seams. Her fingers shook as she worked more clumsily at the line of buttons along his chest. Impatient with her fumbling, she tore that as well, sending buttons skittering across the hard floor. Angel barely heard them bouncing and rolling away; he couldn't seem to focus on anything but the glint in her eyes as she leaned over him, and the cool air that hit his feverish skin when she peeled the abused cloth away. 

She hissed as she took in the bruises and gashes that marred his skin. Her fingertip gently traced a bruise on his collar bone, then she slid her finger over his chest and probed a deeper wound on his bicep, drawing back when he gasped at the sharp jab of pain. 

"Sorry," she whispered. "That one's pretty bad." She looked at her fingertips, now red with his blood, and he felt the void where the bloodlust had been. The smell of it was gone. He knew she would have to douse him in crimson before it would register. The intoxication, the need, the longing, the richness, all of that was gone. He could see the blood, just as he could see the ceiling above him, or the wall, and it meant nothing. It was nothing. He tilted his head, and she wiped her fingers absently on the rags of his shirt. 

"We'll have to bandage that one," she said, then trailed her finger down his chest to rest by a deep cut on his stomach. "And this one. Are there any more that deep?" He thought for a moment, trying to isolate each pain in the mass of aches his body had become. 

"I think there may be a pretty bad one on my back," he said finally, remembering the scrape of rock as he made his escape and the ache, the burn that reached from his back deep into his torso. 

"Okay," she said. "I'll have to clean them, then I'll bandage them. They're not pretty, but you'll heal," she said, smiling a little. He returned the smile. 

"Just slower this time." She nodded, absently touching her own rib, the broken bone already healed to a faint ache, and lowered her gaze. Her cheeks reddened as her position, straddling his waist, registered. Quickly, she swung down off the bed, feeling a pang of loss at the distance put between them. She turned to the shirt and tore the fabric into long strips, then went into the bathroom and soaked one of Giles' hand towels in warm water. She squeezed out some of the excess moisture but the cloth was still dripping when she brought it back to the bed. She hesitated a moment, seeming to brace herself, then squatted beside the bed. 

"This may sting," she muttered, keeping her eyes away from his face. She tried to concentrate on each wound, each body part, individually rather than acknowledge what they were part of, who they were part of. She touched the cloth to the arm in front of her, feeling it jerk slightly as the warm water irritated the wound, but there was no sound other than the exhalation of breath. She blotted at the wound until it seemed clear of dirt, then tied one of the strips of shirt on as a bandage. Telling herself this was going to be a piece of cake, she moved on to the next cut. This one was smaller, needing only cleaning, rather than a bandage. 

Angel closed his eyes, and resolutely turned his face toward the ceiling. The breath he inhaled shuddered in his lungs, but he focused on the blackness behind his eyelids and tried to ignore the feel of her hand stroking his skin through the wet terrycloth. The sensation was curiously intense, both painful as some of the cuts reopened and bled again, and sensuous as the water slicked his body. He tried to pretend it was anyone but her who was touching him, but his body knew the truth. 

He wanted to look at her, needed to see her, and his eyes flew open. He studied her face as she tended him, the way her eyes narrowed in concentration, the way her mouth was slightly open, the way her eyes met his only briefly and slid away. She pulled away and walked around to the other side of the bed, beginning the same treatment on his other arm. No longer trying to deny himself, he watched her intently. She reddened, blushing slightly under the scrutiny. Then she bit her lip and rubbed a little harder at his arm. He winced, and she stopped. Her eyes finally met his, locking her to him. She leaned a little closer to him, her head tilted, and he moved as close as the chains would allow. But before their lips met, she jerked back, and shut her eyes tightly. She reminded herself to breathe and opened her eyes again, careful this time not to look too closely. 

"I'm not sure how to do the back with the cuffs on," she said when she could speak. "If you try to turn with them on you might reopen something." He nodded silently. "Anyway," she said, filling the silence, "They'll be here with the spell stuff any minute and I can do it afterwards." 

"You're sure the spell will prove I'm not evil?" he asked. She hesitated, then spoke softly. 

"My head can't be sure," she admitted. "But my heart is." She met his gaze and tears brightened Angel's eyes. He cursed the bonds that kept him from holding her in his arms, telling her with a kiss what he knew he would never find the words to say. He swallowed and this time, he was the one who looked away. 

"Thank you," he said. She shrugged, dismissing the need for thanks, but stepped forward and briefly squeezed his hand in hers. She cocked her head listening to something he could no longer hear. 

"They're here." She released his hand and stood back, surveying the bed. She crossed her arms, holding herself, and waited while footsteps clattered up the stairs. Willow entered first, clutching a spell book to her chest, then Giles with a bowl filled with herbs, and Xander with a candle. Faith came last, her hands stuck in her back pockets. Xander hesitated when he saw Angel, shirtless, several of his wounds bound, his chest covered in scrapes and bruises. The hesitation lasted only a moment, and he kept his face expressionless, his mouth only hinting at a frown. Faith strolled over to the bed and pulled at the chain on that side. 

"Just checking," she said with a shrug. 

"We're ready," Willow said softly. 

"How does it work?" Buffy asked. 

"Well, we sprinkle this power on him while we chant the spell. And it should bind his tongue so he can only speak the truth," Willow explained. "I mean...in theory." 

"I'll uh...sprinkle," Giles said with a wry smile. 

"Let's get it done," Buffy said. She edged closer to the bed, her thigh pressing against the edge of the mattress. Angel patiently waited while Xander lit his candle, and Willow opened her spellbook. She began to read while Giles dipped a small brush into his bowl of powdered herbs and shook them over Angel's torso. A tingling began in Angel's chest, the barest hint of a tickle that pulled at his ribs. Willow began to repeat the spell and Giles shook more powder on him. Angel watched the dark powder settle against the whiteness of his skin. He exhaled slowly, feeling the tingle move higher up in his chest and settle at the base of his throat. He realized his muscles were clenched and forcibly relaxed them, moving his gaze to Buffy as Willow began the spell a third time. Seeming to feel his gaze, Buffy turned her head toward him and gave him a small smile. He turned back to the spell when Xander handed Willow the candle. 

"So mote it be," the witch said, using the candle flame to set fire to what was left of the powder in Giles' hands. The air seemed to ripple and shimmer like the haze of heat coming off pavement on a sweltering day, and a ball of light appeared in the bowl. With a thunderous bang, the light spiked outward and smashed against Angel's chest, disappearing. His mouth was forced open and his eyes widened as a blast of light flew from his mouth back into Willow's spellbook. The light was gone as quickly as it had appeared and everything seemed normal. A permanent tickle seemed to have settled at the back of Angel's throat, but otherwise he felt fine. 

"Are you okay?" Buffy asked. 

"Yes," he answered. 

"Good," she said. "So who wants to start?" 

"Let's ask something that he should try to answer with a lie so we know it's working," Willow said. 

"You mean the flashes of light didn't prove anything?" Xander asked with a grin. "Okay, here's one we all know the answer to....are you a virgin?" Buffy and Willow both turned to glare at the boy while Faith let out a bark of laughter. Angel narrowed his eyes and raised his eyebrow in annoyance. He shrugged, awkward in the bindings. 

"Yes," he said, barely choking out the word before his throat closed up and he felt himself beginning to suffocate. Dimly he heard Buffy yelling, but he was too busy trying to force air into his lungs to make it out. This having to breathe thing kind of sucked, he decided with a resigned scowl as he thrashed on the bed, his head banging against the headboard. Then the pressure eased and he was able to take in a small breath, then another slightly larger. After a few moments of struggling to regain normal breathing, he turned baleful eyes on Willow. 

"You could have warned me," he said. 

"But if we told you, you could have faked it and we wouldn't know if the spell was really working," Willow pointed out. 

"I just thought it would be fun to watch," Xander added. 

"I almost died for lying about my virginity," Angel said with a shake of his head, then he grinned. "Talk about embarrassing." 

Xander shook his finger at Angel. "You're freaking me out, man. You're smiling and stuff. Your reputation as a brooder is in real jeopardy." Angel raised his eyebrows, and dismissed the boy with a sigh. 

"So what's the next question?" he asked Willow. She looked at Giles and shrugged her shoulders. 

"Are you evil?" Xander asked. 

"No," Angel answered. He was unable to stop himself from flinching slightly as he spoke, but nothing happened. He breathed a small sigh of relief, glad he was still able to. 

"I don't think that's specific enough," Willow said. "I mean, if he was evil maybe he wouldn't think he was evil and then when he said no he wouldn't be lying but he would still be evil, if you know what I mean." 

"What happened in the caves?" Giles asked. 

"What I said before," Angel answered. "I don't remember what happened after Buffy and I were separated, except that I woke up in a small cave. I was trapped until someone or something knocked a hole in the wall. That's how I got out. After I found my way above ground, I came here." 

"Hmmm," Giles said. "What bothers me is the missing time. It's possible that he simply doesn't remember fighting Buffy in the caves." 

"Either way, this proves he's not evil doesn't it?" Buffy asked. 

"I think we should ask a few more questions, truth spells can be tricky as there are so many different ways of viewing the truth." Giles pursed his lips thoughtfully, but Willow was the one who came up with the next question. 

"Do you want to kill anyone?" she asked. 

"No," Angel said. 

"Do you plan to kill anyone or anything?" 

"Nothing but my houseplants," Angel said smiling slightly. "The demon is gone. I can feel it. I feel lighter somehow and emptier." 

"Okay helium boy, riddle me this," Faith said. "Have you figured out a way to fool the truth spell?" 

"No," he answered. 

"I'm tapped," the Slayer said. She shrugged and looked to the others to see if anyone else had a question. 

"How do you feel about all those people you killed?" Xander asked, his eyes hard. 

"I wish I could take back the pain I caused," Angel said. "But I can't. Nothing I do will ever make up for the things I did." He faltered and looked at Xander. The boy's mouth was an unforgiving line, but his jaw jumped nervously. 

"Do you have any idea how you became human?" Buffy asked. 

"No," Angel said. "I wish I did." 

"Do you know if it's permanent?" Buffy asked. 

"No," Angel said. "I hope so. But unless we figure out what caused it, it'll be hard to know who or what might reverse it." 

"What happens if you suddenly change back?" Xander asked. 

"I don't know," Angel answered, frustration tinting his voice. "If I had anything more I could tell you, believe me, I would. But I'm as confused by all this as you are." 

"How much longer should we do this?" Buffy asked Giles. "What more can he say to prove it to you?" 

"I think we can conclude that Angel is not evil. And that he is now human. Unfortunately he was unable to help us discover the cause of these changes, but we will, I'm sure, find something of relevance soon." A mild rap on the door to the apartment turned Giles' attention from Angel. He moved to the stairs. 

"So I can take off the cuffs?" Buffy asked. 

"You may," Giles answered with a smile. He fished the key from his pocket and tossed it to her. Giles went to answer the doors, and she quickly set to work unbinding Angel's wrists. He chaffed at the redness from the tight fetters and moved his wrists and shoulders in circles to loosen them. Buffy sat on the edge of the bed and took his hand in hers. Her fingers trembled in his grip, but she displayed no other signs of what she was thinking. 

"How long will the spell last?" Angel asked Willow. 

"You'll never lie again," Willow said solemnly. Angel raised his eyebrows. "Just kidding. I can take it off you now if you want, otherwise it'll wear off in a couple hours." 

"Just can't wait to start lying again, can you?" Xander asked snidely. 

"Exactly," Angel said, refusing to let the boy get to him. "I want to be able to say you don't look like a clown in that shirt without choking to death." He gasped as his throat started to close up again, and Willow quickly said a phrase in Latin. Buffy's fingers stroked over his, and he drew in a shaky breath. "Guess the spell doesn't really allow for sarcasm." 

Giles reentered the room with Wesley behind him. The young Watcher had the smug look of a successful research session on his face, and he immediately demanded the attention of the others. 

"I believe I've found our demon," he said. He slipped a book from under his arm and opened it to a marked page. A black and white etching took up the full page and he showed it to Buffy. "Is this the demon you saw?" Buffy studied the picture for a moment before answering. 

"I think so," she said. "But I got knocked out after just a couple seconds." 

"It's called a Dagnu. It seems to fit the profile you gave, communicates telepathically, musical voice, extremely powerful and extremely rare." 

"Dagnu, of course, I've heard stories about them," Giles said. "But I thought they were just legends passed on through the generations of demons. Like the human myths of Zeus or Pan." 

"Powerful how?" Buffy asked. 

"Well," Wesley began, "I don't like to use the word omnipotent, but I can't think of another word that more accurately describes it." 

"You're saying this demon can do anything?" Willow asked 

"No," Wesley said, "Not exactly. But the limits of its powers are not understood, and it is worshiped by other demons as a god." 

"Yeah, but some demons would worship cheese as a god," Xander said. 

"This is no laughing matter," Wesley said. "These demons can manipulate time and space, do practically anything they want regardless of the laws of physics." 

"If it can do anything, why the hell is it messing around with Angel's soul? Is it really that bored?" Xander asked. 

"I don't know," Wesley answered. "These demons have remained an enigma, their motivations, their power, their needs...we understand virtually none of it." 

"So how do we kill it?" Faith asked. 

"From what I understand they aren't evil," Giles pointed out. "The stories I've heard refer to them as neither good nor evil. They fulfill their own whims, siding with neither the darkness or the light." 

"Yes," Wesley agreed. "What I've read confirms that. This volume seems to suggest that their manipulations are often an attempt to understand humanity, or other demons. It seems these demons are interested in what type of reaction a person will have to the situation it creates." 

"You mean like the way it made me choose the door?" Buffy asked. "That was some kind of test or something?" She frowned. "It felt pretty evil to me." 

"Yeah, they're treating us like guinea pigs," Xander said. "Are you sure they aren't just trying to figure out whether their new waterproof mascara is safe?" He grinned, but the others weren't paying attention. 

"I don't think our concepts of good and evil are comprehensible to this species," Giles said. "They are separate from us..." 

"So much more powerful that they can't understand our rules," Angel finished. 

"And we cannot understand theirs," Wesley added. 

"So what does this mean?" Buffy asked. "We can't do anything? They can just go around changing people from evil to good and maybe back again," her grip on Angel's hand tightened convulsively, "and we can't do anything about it?" 

"We may be able to do something," Giles said. "But I'll admit I have no idea what." 

"Indeed," Wesley said. "And as of right now, it seems as though their test has worked to our advantage. If they are through with us, then Angel is human, is he not?" 

"Yeah, but how can we ever feel safe?" Willow asked. "We'll never know whether they're going to do something else. I mean, they changed Angel back and forth with no apparent reason..." 

"Wait a moment," Giles said. "We may have been thinking about this in the wrong way. We assumed that there was only one Angel, that our Angel had been changed back and forth. But what if there are two. One Buffy fought in the caves while the other was trapped, and one who escaped later." 

"You mean, somehow this demon separated me into two parts?" Angel said. 

"It makes sense," Willow agreed. "Take out the demon and make a pure vampire, that leaves a pure human for the soul." 

"This is entirely unprecedented," Wesley said. "But I do not think it is beyond the realm of a Dagnu's power." 

"But that means Angelus is still out there," Buffy said, turning to look down at Angel. 

"So we should what, make our Angel wear a nametag so we can tell which one is which?" Xander asked. "Hello my name is Human Angel." Willow cracked a smile. 

"We can take care of Angelus," Buffy said. "But what if the Dagwood thing gets in the way?" 

"We cannot let the Dagnu determine our course of action," Giles said. "We simply do not have the capacity to fight it. And we have no idea when or if it will act again. We must assume that it is finished with you and Angel, or that it will be content simply to observe." 

"I agree," Wesley said. "We must act normally." 

"Cause this is such a normal situation," Faith said sarcastically. "This plan sucks. We can't just pretend it's not there and wait for it to dick us over again." 

"We have no choice," Giles said. Faith punched her open hand savagely with her other fist, her mouth twisted into a frown. Then she nodded once. Giles turned his attention to Angel. 

"You are the one it seems most likely would be affected if the Dagnu does act again." Angel nodded, touched by the concern on Giles' face. "I can only repeat my advice, act as if the Dagnu will not cause any more changes." The Watcher paused thoughtfully and lowered his gaze. "I believe you will have enough of a challenge adapting to humanity without the added concern of worrying about further changes." 

"What's the big adaptation?" Xander said. "It's pretty much just he can get a tan and come off that liquid diet, right?" 

"Unfortunately, no," Giles said. "I cannot guess exactly what the transition will be like, but it involves an entire lifestyle change. Things you've taken for granted, Angel, will no longer be there. Your vampiric strength and healing ability, your reflexes, your night vision. You must learn to eat, to mix with humanity, to perhaps get a job..." he trailed off. 

"I understand," Angel said. "I've already noticed bunches of small things, and I know it'll take some time..." He looked at Buffy and his face broke into a smile. "But I can make the transition. I can learn, and change. I want to..." Buffy slid her fingers down his cheek and squeezed his hand. 

"So what's the plan then?" Xander asked, turning away from the couple. "If we aren't supposed to worry about the omnipotent demon who could be watching us at this very minute, then what are we supposed to be worrying about." 

"Our priority now should be dealing with Angelus," Wesley said. "We need to figure out where he is and kill him before he has the chance to gather a following." 

"I'm down with the killing part," Faith said. 

"Well, he probably hasn't had time to go anywhere new," Buffy said. "He couldn't have had much of the night left when he got out of the tunnels, if he's out yet." 

"But he'd know the mansion is the obvious place," Willow said. "Why would he make himself into a sitting duck?" 

"Good point," Buffy agreed. "He could have gone to the sewers for the day..." 

"We'll never find him if he's hiding down there. There's too much area to cover, and he's probably expecting us," Xander said. 

"I agree," Giles said. "I think we should check the mansion just in case. The other possible locales, the sewers and the caves, are too difficult to search. Where ever he is, he's stuck there as long as it's daylight. So there should not be any problems if everyone stays alert." 

"Once night falls, we'll have to make sure everyone either stays inside where it's safe or goes out protected," Buffy said. 

"We can use the day to make sure all the invitation reversal spells get said," Willow agreed. "I don't think Angel's been back to many of the houses. We already did Giles' place. But yours'll have to be done too, Buffy." Buffy nodded, her eyes turned toward Angel's hand as her fingers played over it and his thumb massaged her palm. 

"So I guess Faith and I should go to the mansion," Buffy said, unable to keep her voice completely emotionless. All she wanted was to stay there, next to the man she had been sure she'd lost again. 

"No, that's okay," Faith said. "I can handle it alone." She raised her hand to stop the protests that rose in several throats. "Look, we doubt he's even there, right? And I'll just do recon. If he's there, I'll come back and we can go in full force. Otherwise, no point in two of us going." She looked at Buffy, and the other Slayer smiled at her. She shrugged off the unsaid thanks, and looked to Giles. 

"Yes, I suppose that would work," Giles said at last. He glanced at his Slayer. "And I believe Buffy would be happiest if she could rest for a while. She's had a hard time of it." 

"Xander and I can do the spell over at your house," Willow said. "And anywhere else we can think of." Xander nodded, his gaze on Buffy and Angel's joined hands. He looked up, shaking himself slightly and nodded again. 

"Yeah, we can be the invitation busters," he said with a smile at Willow. The two of them headed for the stairs, calling good-byes, and Wesley followed them. 

"I'm going to head over the library and continue researching the Dagnu just in case there's something useful out there." 

"Don't stay there after sundown without one of the Slayers," Angel said. "The other Angel can get in the school." Wesley nodded, his face pale. 

Faith walked out after him. "If he's not at the mansion, I'll go by a couple places like Willy's," she said. "I'll be back in a couple hours." 

Giles watched her go, then turned his attention to Buffy and Angel. "Both of you need a change of clothes," he said, motioning with his glasses toward their dirty, ragged state. "Angel you can use some of mine if you're mobile enough to change. Buffy..." 

"I knew I should have left some training clothes here," she said, then added with a smile. "I look terrible in tweed." 

"Actually..." he hesitated. "I do have an outfit or two in the closet that belonged to Jenny, Miss Calendar." Angel sucked in a sharp breath, and Giles swallowed, his eyes suspiciously bright. "I think they would fit you better than my sweatpants." 

"Giles, I couldn't," Buffy said, her voice cracking. 

"I know it's awkward to suggest," Giles said. "But I think she would agree that you need them more than she does...or I do," he amended. He crossed the small distance to where the Slayer stood and took her unoccupied hand in his. He squeezed it briefly then let it go. "Please, I want you to. I know you don't want to go home right now." Buffy's lower lip crumpled, and her eyes filled with tears. She nodded, then let go of Angel's hand and impulsively threw her arms around her Watcher. When she pulled away his shirt was wet with her tears, and her hair was damp with his. 

"Thank you," she breathed, the words barely audible. He nodded and wiped hastily at his eyes. 

"They-they're in the closet," he said pointing toward it. "You can h-help yourselves." After one backwards glance, he hurried to the stairs. Angel watched him go, his own eyes filled with tears. His heart swelled with affection for the man. He knew how much it must have cost the Watcher to open himself that way, and for the sake of the thing who had tried to destroy him. Angel sighed softly. He could never be worthy of Giles' forgiveness, but the man constantly surprised him by offering it. Buffy sat back down on the bed next to him, and he lay still, his limbs heavy with exhaustion. She stretched out next to him and rested her head against his chest. His heart thudded against his ribs under the weight of her head and he smiled. 

"I should look at that wound on your back," she said, her voice unsteady. 

"Later," he said softly. Her head shifted as she nodded, then her body began to shake. He stroked her hair, running his fingers over the tangled strands, and muttering comforting words. She only cried harder, her body shuddering more and more violently as she let go of the emotions she had been attempting to control since they had begun this ordeal in the caves. Grief and relief combined and overwhelmed her, joy and the pain she had not let herself feel before. He began to cry with her, his chest hitching under her head where her tears slicked his skin with salt water. She clutched at his torso, and he wrapped his arm around her as best he could with the stiffness of his wounds, each holding on for dear life. The tears fell like cleansing rain, washing away pain and fear and festering doubt. Slowly the sobs faded and they lay together with their tears spent; their bodies were weak and exhausted, and their souls abused with the intensity of the past two days' struggle. But they were wrapped in each other and for a moment they were at peace. 


	7. Three Doors: Part Seven

_Through the highest parts of heaven   
and the sweetest part of hell   
you come to me like visions girl   
I promise I don't kiss and tell.   
Your skin and lips,   
your sweat and sex,   
your breath it covets me.   
  
You know I like my body best when it is on your body.   
  
Bodies   
-Soul Miner's Daughter _  


**Three Doors**   
**Part Seven**

Buffy exhaled softly, her head on Angel's chest, her breath teasing lightly at his skin. Her limbs were heavy, leaden with laziness and the simple desire to lounge against him. She tightened her grip on Angel's torso, but any other movement seemed like far too much of a struggle to contemplate. Her mind urged her to get up, to change her clothes, to help the others plan, to look at the wound on his back, but the thoughts carried no weight with her rebellious body. Angel's hand stroked her back, and she smiled, knowing suddenly why a cat purrs. 

She tilted her head up and saw the same contented look on his face that she knew was firmly set on hers as well. He met her eyes and smiled, a slow, spreading smile that turned into a grin. She couldn't help but smile in return. She knew by heart his face and the contours of the expressions it fell most often into. To see his lips turn up was rare enough, but she couldn't remember a time she'd seen such an open smile crease his features. Usually he smirked; usually his smiles were guarded, not so much as though he was hiding something, although she knew he often was, but as though he couldn't quite bring himself to the point of happiness. Usually there was the strain of otherness behind the smile. But now, she smiled again, now it was as if he were free. 

She found the motivation to move when she pulled herself further up his body, closer to his face, close enough for her smiling lips to meet his. She sighed happily, and settled back against his body. He placed a gentle kiss on her head, then began to retract his arm. He groaned, his body protesting as he began to sit up. Unthinking, Buffy propped herself up on her elbow and put her arm across his chest, pushing lightly to keep him from getting up. She wasn't ready for this to end, wasn't ready to allow the world to come between them. They had had seldom enough moments alone together, really alone with no worries or fears to intrude on them, and she was going to make this one last as long as she could. 

She stroked his right arm, and he trembled under the touch but opened his mouth to speak. To protest, she knew. He would advise caution; he would be rational and remind her of the things they should be doing. She touched his lips with her fingers, stopping the words. Words were unnecessary. Her answer was in the silence. She smiled, reassuring him, and threw her leg over his body. She braced herself on hands and knees, her body above his, not quite touching. She could feel the heat, the warmth that radiated from his skin, feel it through her clothes. And she wanted it, to touch it, to touch him. She lowered herself onto him, the length of her body pressed tight against the length of his. He gasped, and she remembered too late the wounds she pressed herself against. Stricken, she began to lift herself back up, but his arms encircled her and kept her from moving farther away. 

She met his eyes and saw in them that he did not want this moment to end either. He wanted as much as she did to be close, their bodies melded so tight together that even the air would dare not come between them. She looked worriedly at the dark stain of blood on the bandage around his arm, but he shook his head. He lifted his face to hers and took her lips in a gentle kiss, then he pulled insistently and brought her body back down on top of his. 

Hungry now, she lowered her lips to his and he returned the kiss, his tongue sweeping at her lips. She dug one hand under his head, twisting her fingers in the short strands of his hair. And ran the other hand down the length of his chest. The muscles tensed under her touch, hardening then loosening as he relaxed, surrendering himself fully to her. She broke the kiss and pressed her lips to his chin, his neck. She bit lightly at his flesh with blunt teeth, and he tangled his hand in her hair, closing his eyes. She moved farther down his chest, kissing and biting at his skin, tasting the warmth of him with her eager tongue. He hissed once when her tongue worried a nasty scratch, and she realized she'd reopened the wound, drawing blood. She licked at it gently, trying to soothe the torn flesh. Then she moved again and found herself at the top on his pants. Her fingers quickly undid the button and pulled at the zipper. As it slipped open, his erect cock eased out of its confinement. She placed a soft kiss on its tip, then returned her attention to his clothing. He shifted to help her as she carefully peeled his pants from his legs, wincing when more bruises appeared as the pale flesh was exposed. 

The pants discarded, she tore off her own shirt, baring her breasts. She fumbled with her pants, and sat between his legs to pull them off. A giggle built in her throat, but didn't quite make it out of her mouth. When she looked up, she knew he would see the laughter in her eyes, but in his she saw only awe, worship. His eyes were wide, drinking her in, yet somehow wary, as if he were afraid to take the liberty. She crawled back up his body, kissing him as deeply as she could, until they were both breathless. Emboldened by her kiss, he greedily consumed her flesh with his hands, leaving her shaking, wanting, needing. 

She shifted and impaled herself on his shaft, gasping as it filled her. She shifted again, settling herself, becoming accustomed the heat of him inside her. Slowly, then faster, she set a rhythm that grew rougher with each thrust. Hunger, need, sang through her as she rode him. She closed her eyes, giving herself up to the sensation she had felt only once before; it seemed a lifetime ago. When she opened her eyes, she saw his watched her. His mouth was slightly open; his wide-eyed gaze unmoving from her face. If she had ever doubted he loved her, she knew in that moment it was no longer a question. The pleasure on his face was childlike; it was more than sexual pleasure, it was delight, pure joy so strong it drove him to tears that streaked his cheeks with salt. He cried for happiness because of her, because she was his and he was hers. 

She bent to kiss him, wanting to use her lips, the doorway to words to speak to him in a deeper way than words ever could. She cried out as the movement drove him into her at a different angle, and when her lips met his her body shook with orgasm, clenching around him. He came then as well, shaking under her, filling her, healing her. She continued to kiss him, and his arms clasped around her, holding her to him, clinging to her as if he would keep them joined forever. She realized when she tasted salt on his lips that she cried, that she had been crying with him. 

*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

_i'm looking for you   
in all of these faces   
i'm looking for you   
i think i'm going crazy   
i'm looking for love   
i'm out of my mind   
  
i'm a mad man   
i shook up the world   
i'm a crazy man   
ain't that right   
this ball of confusion   
too big for the both of us   
get out of my town tonight   
  
Power Junkie   
-- Billy Idol _  
  
  
Angelus stood in the shower, letting the scalding water pound against his skin. He lowered his head in the spray, bracing his hands against the tiled wall. The water burned, turning his white skin red and steam filled the bathroom like thick white fog. He washed himself not to drive away the dirt that clung to him from the battle in the caves, but to rid himself of her scent. After he had burned her clothes, he had burned his own. He could smell her in them, her hugs and kisses. He could smell her on himself; like perfume, she clung to him. He knew nothing he did would truly wash her away. The smell he could fight, but she was deeper inside him, underneath his skin. He gritted his teeth, and shut the water off. 

He stepped out of the shower and roughly scrubbed his body with a towel. Once dry, his skin sore and tender from rough usage, he threw the towel on the floor and walked to his closet. He slipped on a pair of worn black leather pants that he hadn't put on since he'd come back from hell. He grabbed a black silk shirt off a hanger. He cocked his head as he pulled it on, listening to the soft creak of hinges. Someone was here. He sniffed at the air, but it was too far from the door to identify the intruder by smell. Angel narrowed his eyes and stalked silently into the main hall. His back was tight with tension, but he moved easily on the balls of his feet, giving no outward sign of the sudden excitement that buzzed in his ears. 

When he entered the main hall he snarled softly, vague disappointment flooding him when he recognized the brunette Slayer who stood beside the fireplace with her arms crossed over her chest. 

"Faith," he said. "Good. I was getting hungry...didn't realize you delivered." 

She raised her eyebrow at him, and ran her eyes slowly over the length of his body. "Well, well, don't you look lickable," she leered. He growled deep in his throat, enraged at her insolence. The human mask slipped away, and he leapt at her, glaring with yellow eyes. Her foot drove into his chest. He quickly grabbed it and trapped her leg with his hands, then pulled, setting her off balance. She punched outward and sent him reeling back a pace, but when she pressed her advantage he ducked her swinging arm and drove his fist into her stomach. She bent over as the breath whooshed out of her lungs, but had the presence of mind to bend further and kick up over her shoulder. Angelus' eyebrow split when her foot connected and he roared, barreling into her and sending them both to the ground. She flipped them over, and grabbed his head by the hair. Using her grip on his hair she slammed his head into the stone floor, stunning him briefly. He pulled his legs in and forced her off him with a swift kick upwards. She landed hard on her backside, but stood up immediately. She laughed, and he pulled himself up into a crouch. 

"I didn't come here to kill you, you know," she said. 

"Then you're a fool," he answered, circling her warily, the smell of his own blood making his senses reel. 

"Want to know why?" she asked rhetorically. 

"Not really," he said. "I'd rather just listen to you scream." He moved suddenly, and feinted a kick at her head, then drove his fist into her unprotected side when she moved to block his foot. 

"You disappoint me," she said, forcing him to jump to avoid a sweeping kick. "I heard you were this big bad vamp. I heard you wanted to kill Buffy..." 

"I guess you didn't hear about the fact that I'll kill any Slayer out there, not just blonde ones," he said, punching at her chest with both fists. 

"What about Slayers that're on your side?" she asked, turning to avoid the punch, then kicking to the side. He ducked under the kick and leaned on one hand to give himself the leverage to kick upwards, sending her sprawling. 

"You telling me you went rogue after all?" he said. "Save Buffy's life from Trick to throw off suspicion?" 

"More like even the score. Now I don't owe her jack," Faith said She looked up at him, propped up on her elbows, lounging on the floor where she'd landed. He moved closer, looming over her. 

"And I should believe you just because you say so?" he said, shaking his head slowly from side to side. "No dice, sweetheart, I wouldn't put it past Buffy to use you to trap me." Faith smiled, flashing teeth, then lifted her hips and latched on to his waist with her legs. With one swift movement of her legs, she pulled him down on top of her. He braced his fall with a hand on either side of her body and found his torso pressing against her, his face inches from her chest. His growl rumbled deep in his throat, and Faith released the grip her legs had on him only to twist her hand in his shirt and yank him closer. 

"It's been a while, hasn't it?" she breathed. Her lips claimed his, and her hands ran down his back to grab his ass. He growled again, taking control of the kiss with a harsh bite. She moaned, and he delved into her mouth with his tongue, her blood staining the kiss with copper. She rolled, flipping their positions. She grabbed both sides of his shirt and pulled, grinding her groin against his. 

"You think you're evil now?" he asked. "You think fucking me makes you evil?" She scratched her fingernails across his chest, drawing blood, and his eyes narrowed. 

"You got no idea," Faith hissed. "I'm in good with the mayor, and he's on track to destroy this whole stinking town." 

He put his hands around her, rose to one knee and lifted her body easily. He took a few steps and slammed her up against the wall. Her feet locked behind his back, and he ground his hips against her. 

"And Buffy?" he asked. 

She ran her hands down the sides of his face, and reached between them to his pants. Her fingers fumbled with the zipper a moment, then his cock sprang free. He snarled as she ran her fingertips against the side of its length. 

"She's ours," Faith whispered. 

"Mine," he growled. He slammed her against the wall again, then used it to hold her up, freeing his hands to tear at her jeans. 

"Whatever," she said angrily. "The stupid bitch won't figure out I've gone over to the other side until it's too late. We can do whatever we want. Kill her, the other Angel, all of them." Angelus stopped moving, her zipper half undone. 

"Other Angel?" he said. 

"There's two of you now," Faith said, licking the side of his face. "The human one is with her right now, probably doing exactly what we're doing." She grinned. "It's been a long time for him too." Angel snarled, finishing the zipper and entering her with one harsh movement. His teeth were bared, his eyes furious, as he pounded her against the wall again and again, his rhythm hard and fast. Faith took every stroke, her eyes clouding with pain and pleasure, her breath coming in ragged pants. She closed her eyes, and he continued to thrust into her, his eyes unfocused, seeing not her dark hair, not her face, but another's. He could smell the other on her, and he buried his nose in her neck. 

He bared his teeth again and bit down, his teeth breaking the skin, tearing into her vein. He swallowed the blood greedily. It was powerful, invigorating, Slayer. He heard her moan, then attempt to scream, her eyes open now, fear making her squirm weakly against him. She tried to throw him off, but he was imbedded too deep. He pulled away from her neck, his teeth red with blood, and whispered into her ear. 

"You're nothing, Faith." He smiled into her hair. "You've never been anything. I had to pretend you were her just to get it up." He blew lightly against her neck, her weak struggles barely straining his hold on her. Her eyes flew to him, wide with fear, and useless anger, and his favorite...horror. The deepest sort of horror that came from her worst fears being realized, her most secret self-doubts being spoken. He laughed and kissed her, smearing her own blood over her lips, then he moved to the other side of her neck and bit again, draining her. The last of her blood was laced with everything he loved, death and fear, yes. But also the hopelessness and horror she had died feeling. He pulled out of her, letting her body drop limp and boneless to the ground. She stared, sightless, empty as he zipped his pants and wiped at his mouth. He thought he might as well change his shirt since this one was torn. Or maybe another shower, to wash away the scratch marks on his chest. He laughed again, the sound sharp and bitter, to think that she had tried to mark him with her shallow grasp. To think she had believed she could uproot the other's claim on him with her hollow body. 

But she would serve her purpose. Buffy would find the body, not knowing of Faith's decision to give herself to the dark. Buffy would mourn her friend. She'd feel once again the guilt and grief that overwhelmed her with each failure. Her mind would be consumed with him as his was with her. Sad that he would not be here to watch, but he had plans to make, and a witch to catch. 


	8. Three Doors: Part Eight

_Now Juliet ain't nothing new   
So I'll play Romeo for you   
I'm climbing out your window tonight   
cause your daddy don't like those Montagues   
Remember how that story ends?   
Yes I do so I pretend   
that we wind up another way   
Wake up and kiss my mouth and save the day.   
  
Pleasing You   
-Soul Miner's Daughter_

**Three Doors**   
**Part Eight**

Angel studied the tousle of blonde hair resting against his shoulder blade. His heart ached, not from the pain of his body or from any sadness, but because he felt too much joy. His emotions too powerful to be contained, they pressed against his body, against his brain, against his heart, straining within him until he hurt from the excess. He was holding what he loved most in the world. The impossible had happened, and he had been granted this, been granted everything. He moved slightly, snuggling against her warmth and tried to swallow past the lump in his throat. 

Her beauty was stunning, but her trust, her love was what filled him to overflowing, filled him until he stretched and bruised, his heart matching his battered form and grateful for the honor. The silence folded around him, a strange contrast to the heat and rough movement of their joining. Then there had been no room for thought, now there was too much. She shifted against him, traced her fingers across his abdomen, and he suppressed a whimper. It was too much, almost too much, not enough, he placed his hand over hers and her fingers entwined with his. Too much. He groaned, sitting up slowly. 

"What is it?" she asked. 

"We can't stay this way forever," he said. 

"Why not?" She stretched against the sheets, shifting them with the golden curves of her body. 

"For one thing, I'm starving," he said, smiling down at her. 

"I haven't eaten in a long time either," she agreed. "I'd forgotten." She sat up slowly, unwillingly, and put her chin on his shoulder. "I love you," she said, tucking her arm around his waist. 

"And I love you," he answered, pressing a kiss to her head. He smoothed her hair with his fingers, then pulled away from her embrace and stood up, his abused body creaking with the movement. 

*~*~*~* 

Angel edged down the stairs dressed in a pair of Giles' sweat pants, pain jolting him with each step. His bare chest had grown more discolored as the bruises had begun to come into full bloom, but most of the cuts were looking healthier, though still a bit raw. Muscles burned and ached with each movement, but he gritted his teeth and continued until his bare feet landed on the cool tiles of Giles' living room. Sighing softly to himself, he shambled the rest of the distance to the kitchen. Giles looked up as he passed by the sofa. 

"Are you all right?" the librarian asked, watching Angel's stiff-legged gait. 

"Yeah. I'm just sore and bruised and a couple of these scrapes started bleeding again in the shower. Other than that..." Angel trailed off, opening the refrigerator. "I'm also starving." 

"You won't find too much in there," Giles said, returning his gaze to the book in front of him. "I've been meaning to stop by the grocery store." Angel nodded, pulling a plastic container of leftover Chinese food and a loaf of bread from the fridge. He shivered in the cold air, but reached in again to pull out a carton of orange juice and a jar of peanut butter. 

"I think I can manage." 

"Is Buffy asleep?" 

"No, she's in the shower. She'll be down in a moment." 

"I'm a bit worried," Giles admitted. "Faith should have been back by now. Or at least checked in." 

"You think the other version of me was at the mansion?" Angel asked through a mouthful of cold pepper steak and rice. He stuffed another bite into his mouth, his cheeks swelling with the food. 

"The thought had crossed my mind. But knowing Faith, she probably decided to go somewhere after she checked the mansion and didn't bother to inform us." 

"Maybe. But knowing Faith, if he was there she might have decided not to stick to the plan and wait for us." 

"I don't believe she truly understands how dangerous he can be," Giles agreed, his eyes narrowed with concern. 

"Buffy and I should go by the mansion," Angel decided. 

"Are you sure you're up to that?" Giles asked skeptically, his brow furrowing. 

"Of course," Angel said straightening his stance. "I can do it," he reaffirmed with a wince as his muscles protested the movement. 

"You should be taking a few days to heal," Giles argued. 

"We don't have a few days," Angel answered. "I know him better than anyone. I was him. I can help." 

"I know you can," Giles said. "But perhaps in a less active capacity?" 

"I can't just sit by and let him rampage. I can't let Buffy-" 

"Can't let Buffy what?" Buffy asked as she came down the stairs. She wore a gauzy grey shirt and a matching ankle length skirt embroidered with small black flowers. Giles felt a small gasp of air hiss from his lungs as he took in the sight of her in those clothes and was reminded of the past. Her wet hair was plastered to her head, and she seemed confident, rejuvenated, herself again though the clothes were purely Jenny. She shot a small, uncertain glance at Giles, and he smiled, the expression coming easier than expected to his lips. 

"Go to the mansion by yourself," Angel told her. She entered the kitchen and poured herself a glass of orange juice, watching in amazement as Angel finished the Chinese food and started on a stack of three peanut butter sandwiches. She smiled, giving him a gentle hug. 

"Has anyone ever told you that you look like a chipmunk?" Angel laughed, touched his swollen cheek, and wrapped his arm around her waist. 

"I can't get over the whole solid food thing," he said, shrugging his shoulders sheepishly. "When I was a vampire I couldn't really taste it. I'd forgotten." Buffy grinned, and kissed his shoulder. 

"Welcome to the wonderful world of leftovers." Giles shook his head, and smiled slightly to himself at their teasing. "What's the deal with the mansion?" Buffy asked, stealing one of Angel's sandwiches. Angel made a face at her, and she stuck out her tongue. 

"Faith hasn't returned, or contacted us," Giles said. Buffy's amusement faded, and she turned her attention away from Angel, nodding. 

"Not a good sign." 

"But maybe nothing," Angel pointed out. Buffy shook her head, leaving the kitchen and half her sandwich to sit beside Giles. 

"Maybe. But I have a bad feeling." She met Giles' eyes, seeing her own worry reflected in his. "True, Angelus equals extra edgy Buffy. But then again, this is Angelus. She could be in serious trouble." She hesitated. "Or worse," she muttered under her breath. "I'll go right away." 

"Good," Angel said. "I'm going with you." Buffy looked at his battered body with raised eyebrows. 

"You couldn't even put on a shirt because it hurt too much," she said gently. "And I can't be distracted if he's there." 

"I don't have illusions about my strength, or lack thereof," Angel said. "I know my limits. But I still think you need someone to back you up. I can take a crossbow, and I'll stay back. It'll be strictly fighting at a distance." Buffy bit her upper lip, wavering. 

"Okay, I would like some back-up," she relented. "But you have to be careful and stay out of it. Promise." Angel held up his hand. 

"I swear." 

"I know you. You say that now, but if we get in trouble you'll go charging in..." 

"I won't get in your way," Angel said, his half-smile not quite covering his discomfort with the situation. He wasn't used to his capability being questioned. He understood the need, and the aching of his body reminded him exactly why the doubts of the others were rational. But it was a bitter pill to swallow. Although he wouldn't have admitted it, his ability to fight, to hold his own next to Buffy was something of a point of pride. Buffy closed her eyes, her brow wrinkling. 

"That's not what I meant..." she began. 

"I know," he said, shaking it away with his hand. "It's just going to take some getting used to." She nodded, bending over to gather her shoes from their place beside the coffee table. 

"I'll get the weapons," she said. "And you finish getting dressed." Angel nodded, finishing his glass of orange juice and heading for the stairs. Buffy pulled on her shoes and crossed to Giles' weapons chest. She pulled out a crossbow and an ax. The front door opened with a creak, and she tensed involuntarily, her head whipping toward the entrance to the apartment. Willow and Xander passed through the doorway, and she forced her muscles to relax. 

"A fully successful outing," Xander said. "Willow kicked some butt, wicca style." 

"I must admit I did," Willow said. "And we dropped by the school to talk to Cordy and Oz about why they can't go out tonight or invite Angel into their homes." 

"Needless to say, they were thrilled," Xander said. "And by thrilled, I mean confused. Also mad. And scared." 

"And we managed to avoid Snyder long enough to stop by the library and see if Wesley had anything new," Willow added. 

"He didn't," Xander finished. "Big British loser." Giles raised an eyebrow. Xander shrugged. "What? I'm not talking about you." Angel walked slowly down the stairs, wearing a loose white t-shirt and his own shoes. "Oh, and since I found some of these in Giles' office, I brought you a present," Xander said. He reached into his pocket and retrieved a name tag, peeled it from its backing, and clapped it to Angel's chest. Angel winced, craning his head downwards to read the tag. 

"Hello my name is...HumAngel," Angel read slowly. He looked into Xander's expectant face. 

"Get it? Human Angel? So we can tell you apart," the boy explained. 

"Clever," Angel said dryly. 

"I'd really prefer you didn't poke about in my office," Giles said. 

"Oh, yeah like you've got some big secret thing in there..." Xander began. 

"Whatever," Buffy interrupted. "We can't stay. We're going to the mansion to check up on Faith. She's AWOL." 

"We can come with," Willow offered. 

"No," Buffy said. "I want you guys as safe as possible. That means no throwing yourself in the line of fire." 

"But he's going?" Xander said, pointing his thumb at Angel, who was peeling off the name tag. "He's even more useless than us now." Angel's jaw jumped in annoyance. 

"Xander, shut up," Buffy said, pulling lightly on the hem of Angel's borrowed shirt to steer him past the others to the door. She handed him the crossbow and shouldered the ax herself. "At least he can aim a crossbow." 

"Ouch," Xander said, clutching his chest in mock pain. Buffy rolled her eyes to Angel, and he broke into a grin as they passed out the door. 

*~*~*~*~* 

Buffy pushed open the front door of the Crawford Mansion, with Angel behind her. The door had been unlocked, and she wasn't sure whether that was a good sign or a bad one. She peered inside as the door swung wide. She scanned the room for movement, straining her senses for a presence in the house. Seeing nothing, she motioned for Angel to stay and took a step inside. Her heels echoed against the stone floors, bouncing off the walls of empty rooms. Her back was tight with anticipation, her fists clenched. Her gaze darted from one corner of the living room to the other, and caught on a huddled body on the floor. Dread shot through her stomach, and she heard the hiss of breath as she gasped. 

Forgetting caution, she ran, feeling as if a year had simply disappeared. She was running down the halls of Sunnydale High, her heart racing though her feet seemed slow, much too slow. She was kneeling, skidding on her knees, beside Kendra's body. She was right back where she had been that night, the night she'd sent him to hell. She touched the other Slayer's hand, cradling it in her own, and the past retreated slightly. It was Faith. She lay like Kendra had, still and small, fragile. Her eyes were closed, her neck stained by blood and the mark of teeth. The strength she'd had, the strength only another Slayer could have, was gone. She was dead, and Buffy had failed her. 

She felt Angel run up behind her, the crossbow hanging slack from one hand. He bent, putting his hand on her shoulder, and time slipped back into its proper place. Now was not a year ago. Angel was here with her, to help her, to comfort her. It was Faith, not Kendra whose dark hair spread out beneath her head like a swirl of brown. Faith's brash mouth that was closed, quiet. Faith whose shirt was torn, and whose jeans were still unfastened. Buffy shuddered, the shock that excluded everything but the fact of Faith's death turning to horror as she took in the girl's body, as her mind reeled with the possibilities. What had Angelus done to her? How badly had he hurt her? How terrified had she been? Had he turned her? She reached up desperately to grasp Angel's hand, and it was gone. She tore herself from Faith's body, turning to Angel, and saw him back away with panic on his face. He gagged, and spun on his heel, rushing back out of the house into the sunlight. 

She turned back to Faith, squeezing her eyes shut against the shame, the defilement, the emptiness. Then she forced herself to look again, to imprint the image in her mind. Faith was dead, she'd been the one to experience the pain, the shame. The least Buffy could do was look. The least she could do was remember. She took it in until she knew the image would be in her memory forever, haunting her, waiting behind her eyelids. Then she hurried after Angel, catching up to him on the walkway to the door. She grabbed his arm, stopping him from continuing his flight away from her, from Faith's body. 

"What's going on?" she asked. 

"I..." He shuddered, tears in his eyes, his throat convulsing. "I couldn't stand it. I couldn't look at her." 

"But you've seen worse," Buffy said, leaving it unspoken that he'd done worse. 

"I can't explain," Angel said, his eyes fixed on the treetops as he tried to make sense of it. "It was...the blood. And seeing her lying there." He stopped, turning his gaze reluctantly to Buffy. "I'd only seen one dead person in my life before I was turned, and it was my grandmother who died of disease. This is the first murdered person I've seen without the demon in me." Buffy nodded, encouraging him to continue. "It's...Before it didn't seem to affect me. Except maybe that a part of me liked it. But now, I just feel horror. This horror filling me with ugliness, like a stain." 

"I'm sorry," Buffy said. She put her arms around him, and he stroked her hair, the rhythmic motion calming him. "I'm sorry you had to be a part of this, and see what you did. I'm sorry you didn't get to be human for a day, even one day, without being dragged into the things I deal with. The death." 

"No, it's not your fault," he said, pulling back to look down at her. 

"It is," she said, her hands trembling. "Faith. Oh God, Faith. He did this to her, but it's my fault. We have to find him. He'll keep doing this, keep killing, hurting." 

"We will stop him," Angel said. 

"No," Buffy answered. "It should be just me. Look what happened to you here. You shouldn't have to deal with it. You won't be able to handle it." She looked up at him, meeting his eyes, wanting with all her heart to beg him to be there for her. To help her be strong. Realizing that for the first time he might not be strong enough to do that. And she couldn't ask him to be part of her world, not now that he had the chance to be normal, to live outside the nightmare. 

"I'm not letting you face this alone," he said, his tone unflinching, adamant. She nodded helplessly, knowing she should force him to stay out of it, but not strong enough to keep from clinging to him. 

"I need you," she admitted. "I need you to support me." 

"I'll be there for you," he said. She leaned her forehead against his chest, and one sob jerked through her body, then she took a deep breath and looked at the mansion dry eyed. 

"I have to go back in," she said. "I'll check to see if he's still there," she said. "But I doubt he is." 

"There's sewer access in back of the house," Angel pointed out. "He could get to it during the day if he covered himself with something sturdy." Buffy nodded, her jaw set. She turned back to the house. 

"We'll hit Willy's next. Then anywhere else you can think of where he might have gone. We can contact the others from Willy's." 

"What about..." Angel's eyes darted to the door, and he swallowed again. 

"There's nothing we can do for her besides make sure she won't rise a vampire," Buffy said. Surprise widened Angel's eyes, then he nodded, understanding. 

"Do you want me there when you do it?" he asked. 

Though Buffy's heart screamed yes, please God, yes. She shook her head, no. "You stay here," she said, squaring her shoulders. She took a deep breath and ducked back inside the house, pulling a stake from her pocket. She approached Faith's body with dread, her sweaty palm clenched around the hard length of the stake. She knelt again beside the body and muttered an apology, focusing on Faith's chest, trying to disassociate the other Slayer from the dead girl before her. She exhaled sharply and drove the stake through the Slayer's heart. She clenched her jaw and stood up, turning away. She would make Angelus pay for this. Every ounce of pain, every drop of humiliation he'd inflicted on Faith she'd bring to him and more. 

*~*~*~*~*~* 

Angelus climbed the ladder up the side of the sewer tunnel beneath the Willy's bar. A firm push moved the metal cover aside, and he climbed up into the storeroom he remembered being dragged through on the way to being sold to Spike. He bared his teeth. He'd never paid Willy back for that. One day he would. But right now he needed the bartender to provide a bit of information. He took a quick look at his surroundings, the liquor packed onto the shelves, the small windows near the ceiling and the patches of light shining through them, the locked cage where Kendra had trapped him. 

The door to the storeroom opened and Willy entered, weighed down by a case of Tamalian Ale. He stopped when he saw the vampire before him, and juggled the case to keep from dropping it on the concrete. 

"Angel," he said warily. He eased the case to the floor, taking a step backward. "The Slayer send you? Or maybe you want some pig's blood?" Angelus laughed, allowing his vampiric face to emerge. He took a step forward, flicking his tongue against his fangs. 

"Guess again." 

"Hey," Willy said, holding up his hands and taking another step backward. "Hey, no need to get scary on me. You just..." He stopped as Angelus abruptly launched himself through the stream of sunlight coming in the window, and pinned Willy to the wall in the shadow. His skin smoking slightly, he sniffed at Willy's neck, enjoying the scent of the man's fear, the pounding of the blood beneath the skin. "Please..." Willy said. 

"I need a bit of information," Angelus purred. Willy nodded uneasily. Angelus placed his hand tightly against Willy's throat, and held him to the wall with the pressure. The man's gasping breaths vibrated pleasantly against his palm. "I'm looking for a nest." 

"I don't know stuff like that," Willy said. "They don't tell..." Angel increased the pressure against his trachea, and he stopped, struggling to breathe. 

"I think you know," Angelus sing-songed quietly into Willy's ear. "You may be thinking to yourself that you know me, that I'm not going to kill you, that I'm the Slayer's lapdog..." He kneed Willy hard in the groin, and the man screamed silently in agony, unable to gain the air to give voice to the pain. "Let me assure you that continuing to think that way will be the last mistake you'll make." He released the pressure on Willy's throat slightly, and again the flow of air rattled against his palm. 

"There's no nests," Willy said weakly. "The Slayers took out one a couple weeks ago. That's the only one I knew..." His eyes rolled in fear as the hand began to close. Angelus laughed. With a casual movement he drove his fist deep into Willy's belly. The air whooshed from Willy's lungs, but he was kept from doubling over in pain by the vise grip on his neck. 

"Have to do better than that, Willy my boy." Angelus removed his hand without warning, and stepped back. Willy fell to the concrete, curled in on his stomach, gasping to breathe. 

"What the hell happened to you, Angel?" he asked. 

"Just tell me what I want to know," Angelus answered. He placed his foot on the side of Willy's head, pinning it to the floor. "And don't ever," he increased the pressure against Willy's skull, "ever call me Angel." 

"Whatever you want," Willy said. Angelus eased off and knelt down beside the prone bartender, trailing his fingers down the side of Willy's face hard enough to leave a path of bleeding scratches. "What size nest you looking for?" Willy whimpered. 


	9. Three Doors: Part Nine

_I was on the outside when you said,   
You said you needed me.   
I was looking at myself, I was blind   
I could not see.   
  
If you walkaway, walkaway   
I walkaway, walkaway-I will follow   
  
I Will Follow   
-U2_

**Three Doors**   
**Part Nine**

Buffy strode along the edge of the sidewalk, Angel trailing slightly behind. She took long steps, her face set along hard lines. She frowned suddenly. Angel quickened his feet, attempting to catch up to her and not quite able to, his usually long stride hampered by the stiffness of his muscles. He wondered what she was thinking, about Willy, about Faith, about Angelus. He echoed her frown, feeling as if a door had been slammed in his face when he realized he had no idea. He struggled harder to catch up, squinting into the brightness of the day, pointedly ignoring his protesting legs and overtaxed lungs and heart. His steps stayed just slightly behind hers, and he felt a wave of frustration overtake him. 

She slowed when they were a block away from Willy's, her steps falling more lightly. He walked beside her, his head cocked slightly to the side as if he knew she would break the silence. 

"Let me do the talking," she said as they drew closer. 

"You were always better at it," he agreed. Her lips stretched slightly into a smile. He squared his shoulders and followed her into the dim lighting of the bar. Because it was the middle of the day, the bar was occupied only by a pair of unconscious patrons asleep with their heads on a table. They looked human, but knowing Willy's they were probably vampire. Either way, Buffy didn't give them a second glance. She headed unwavering for the storeroom and opened the door with a splintering kick. Angel winced as it banged open with an explosive crack against the wall, waking the sleepers behind them. Buffy stopped it from swinging shut again with her foot and entered the room, her sweeping gaze landing on a huddled figure lying next to an abandoned case of drinks. Her face twisted briefly with fear, then returned to the emotionless mask she'd worn since leaving the mansion. She hurried to Willy's side and rolled him over, noting the rise and fall of his chest with relief. 

"He's alive," she said. Angel knelt on Willy's other side, and watched her lightly tap her hand against the man's cheeks. Willy remained unconscious, blood trickling slightly from the corner of his mouth. Buffy looked at Angel, and he shrugged his shoulders. She jerked her head from right to left, searching for help, and grabbed a bottle from the case next to her. She poured some of the liquor onto Willy's face and his eyes popped open. He blinked and sputtered. 

"Slayer," he said as he oriented himself. He tried to sit up, but dropped back, reminded by the pain in his abdomen of how he'd ended up on the storeroom floor in the first place. 

"Do you want me to call an ambulance?" Buffy said. 

"I've survived worse," he said, his voice strained, horse. "Barely. Just try to help me up here." Angel took one of his arms as Buffy took the other, and the two of them heaved the bartender up onto his feet. Willy looked to his right, seeing Angel for the first time and a tremor ran through his body. Angel's brow wrinkled as Willy pulled away from his touch, stumbling into Buffy. He was sweating and shaking, fear locking his muscles in place. Angel looked at Buffy, questioning. She shook her head. 

"What's going on, Willy?" she said. "Who did this to you?" Willy's eyes darted helplessly to Angel, then away, then back again as if looking for some hint the other man wasn't giving. He sagged slightly in Buffy's grasp, and she tightened her grip to keep him on his feet. 

"I-I don't know," he stuttered, his eyes jerking nervously to Angel again. 

"It was Angelus," she said. Willy looked at Angel, not answering. Buffy's fists curled as she resisted the urge to shake the man as hard as she could. Hurting him wasn't necessary, yet. "What did he want?" 

Willy whimpered, unable to take his eyes from Angel, sweat trickling slowly down the side of his face. "I can't say," he muttered. "I can't say nothing." 

"Tell her," Angel said. 'I'm not going to hurt you." The bartender continued to shake, doubt darkening his eyes. Angel reached a gentle hand to wipe away the blood at the corner of Willy's mouth. "I'm not the one who did this to you." Willy shook his head slightly, sagging against Buffy again. 

"Damn it," she said, impatience creeping into her voice. She pushed him into Angel's hands and crossed her arms over her chest. "We don't have time to deal with this." Angel grabbed Willy and helped him balance. 

"I don't want to say nothing wrong," he muttered again. He looked up at Angel. "Just tell me what to say." 

"Tell her what the person who did this to you wanted," Angel said carefully. Willy searched his face and saw no threat in his eyes, no hidden warning. 

"He came in to find out where there's a nest close by," Willy said, his words tumbling fast from his mouth. "I told him about the one in the abandoned photoshop. It's down by the docks." 

"And that's where he went?" Buffy asked. 

"I don't know where he went, Slayer," Willy said. "He left here, that's all I know." 

"If you're lying to me," Buffy said quietly, "I'll prove I can hurt you worse than Angelus can." 

"Who said it was even Angelus that came by here?" Willy asked. Buffy snorted in disgust, and motioned for Angel to come with her. She left the storeroom, and Angel propped Willy up against the wall in a sitting position before following her. 

"Angel," Willy said, belatedly adding, "-us." Angel stopped at the doorway. "I did good, right? I did what you wanted?" Angel looked back at the pitiful shape slumped against the wall. 

"I'm telling you it wasn't me that did this to you," he said. "There's another-" He cut himself off, sighing at the incomprehension in Willy's eyes. Buffy was right; they didn't have time to explain. "You did right. I want you to tell Buffy everything you know. Anything you see me do or ask you, you tell her." Willy nodded, confusion and pain mingling in the tight set of his shoulders and the wrinkle of his brow. Angel nodded at him. "You did right." 

*~*~*~*~*~* 

Angelus lifted the sewer access door built into the floor of the abandoned photoshop darkroom. He pulled himself up through the opening, taking in the objects in the room, remnants of furniture and piles of bedding, as well as about fifteen vampires sprawled out on the piles of rags and pillows, and in the corner a dead body slowly beginning to rot. He snorted in distaste. He could never understand why vampires felt the need to live in squalor, like rats in a cage, nesting in their own filth and the scraps stolen from humans. They could take whatever they wanted, have anything, do anything, yet they hid and groveled in the dirt. Their stupidity annoyed him. He stood near the middle of the room, and kicked the vampire closest to him. 

"Wake up!" he roared, his vampiric face sliding into place. He snarled as the vampires around him scrambled to their feet and formed a threatening circle around him. 

"It's the Slayer's boyfriend," one of the vampires said, shaking his shaggy black hair from his eyes. He motioned slightly with his head, and a few of the vampires changed their positions slightly, their eyes flicking to him. Several of the others looked around the room nervously as if expecting to see Buffy's blonde head pop through the door at any moment. 

"If the Slayer's here..." one of them started. 

"She's not," Angelus growled. "If she were, I would rip her throat out." 

"Right, we should believe her boy-toy is going to kill her?" a dark haired woman asked snidely. The man next to her hissed through bared fangs, and Angelus fought the urge to roll his eyes. 

"Who is master here?" he asked, ignoring the comment. 

"Why should we tell you anything?" a blond man asked. "You will be dead in two seconds. We'll send your dust to the Slayer as a birthday gift." He laughed and started toward Angelus, many of the other vampires stepping forward as well, muttering venomous words toward the Slayer. Angelus did not wait for him to finish making his move. Instead he threw himself forward, his fists impacting the other vampire's chest with enough force to send him flying backward with a sharp crack of bone. 

"Don't make me ask again," Angelus said, his voice a menacing rumble. He faked a movement toward another of the vampires who surrounded him, and the man jerked back violently. Angelus laughed. Enraged, the black haired vampire nodded, and the others closed in on Angelus, attacking as a group. Angelus became a whirlwind of motion, shaking off the blows that landed against his torso and face. Inwardly he sighed. They were inexperienced, very young, which meant they were probably too stupid to be much help. But on the up side they would be easy to control. He grimaced as a fist grazed his temple. His own fists and feet seemed to be everywhere at once, leaving some of the vampires lying stunned outside the frenzy of battle, and others on the defensive. He pulled a stake from inside his jacket, and ignored a foot that smashed into his back, driving the stake into the heart of the black haired vampire he believed was the leader. The other vampires hesitated. 

"You killed Samuel!" The black-haried woman exclaimed in shock. 

"Will I have to kill any others?" Angel asked, adjusting his grip on the stake. The vampires around him exchanged glances, fear creeping into their eyes. All but two or three backed a step or two away, falling out of their fighting stances. Angelus turned his gaze on the black-haired woman and the two others who still seemed ready to fight. "You were his lover?" he said to the woman; it was not really a question. She nodded reluctantly. "Then you have a choice," he said coldly. "You can die with him, or you can follow me." 

"Why would the Slayer's pet vampire want to control our gang?" one of the men asked. Angel lashed out casually with a fist, slamming it deep into the vampire's gut. 

"Never call me that," he said. "The Slayer is nothing to me but a target." 

"Look, just because you had a fight with your girlfriend..." the woman began. Angel slammed his fist into her face, sending her reeling back. She stumbled, snarling, licking blood from her split lip, hatred in her eyes. 

"I am Angelus," he said, his voice a bare whispered hiss that sent chills up every spine. 

"Shit," the blonde man said, understanding slowly dawning in his eyes. "My sire was one of Spike's boys. He told me about how you turned on the Slayer. But you've been all cozy with her..." Angelus gritted his teeth. 

"I wasn't myself. I am now. Completely," he said. "I will not explain myself to you. I am your master now. That's all you need to know." A few of the vampires shifted uneasily. "I've killed one Slayer today. And I'm going to kill the other. I can kill you all as easily. Or you can help me kill the Slayer." 

"Faith was on our side," the blonde vampire said. 

"She was a Slayer, sooner or later she would have remembered that," Angelus answered. 

"They mayor's going to be pissed," another added. 

"I don't like all this ordering us around," one of the vampires began. Angelus grabbed him by the hair and jerked his head to the side. The vampire stood still, frozen. 

"I can teach you, teach you things you've never dreamed of," Angelus said, sweeping his gaze over the ragtag group before him, their minds filled with nothing but today, nothing but their own petty desires. "If you do as I say, you will survive, and more...but no one will question me." He trailed his fingernail down the vampire he held's cheek, drawing blood. "NO ONE!" he screamed. A chorus of nods and vague assents rose from the throats of the other vampires. 

"You," he said, tossing the vampire in his hands to the side as his attention turned to the dark haired woman. 

"Janet," she said. 

"We're leaving." He turned his gaze on the vampires in general. "All of us." 

"But-" Janet started, then stopped abruptly, her lip twisting with anger as Angelus skewered her with a look. "Lead the way," she said, hostility underlying every syllable. Angelus turned on his heel and headed back toward the sewer access. After a moment of hesitation, and many exchanged looks, the rest of the vampires followed. Angelus smiled sardonically. They were idiots. He turned with easy grace as the vampire he'd marked charged at him, his teeth bared. Angel backhanded him, and the vampire reeled. He shook off the effects of the blow and attacked again. Angel blocked the other vampire's swinging fist with his arm, swept the man's feet from under him, and grabbed the sides of his head while he was off balance. With a quick twist, he broke the vampire's neck, then staked the body as it fell from his hands to the ground. 

Without speaking he walked the rest of the way to the tunnel, knowing the other vampires would follow. That's what they were, followers. They were drawn to power because they were too stupid to lead themselves. They would hate him. Occasionally they would try to kill him. But in the end, they would obey him because they needed him or someone like him to tell them what to do. He lifted the sewer access door and dropped back down into the tunnels. 

They wouldn't ask him where they where going, or why. They were too afraid to. That was as it should be. And Angel felt no need to explain. It was enough that he knew where and why. The why was obvious. Buffy would come to the photoshop. He hadn't killed Willy, which meant she would find out from him exactly where the nest was. It was one thing he respected in her, one thing they had in common, the capacity to torture, to get information from reluctant sources. And Willy was a snitch by nature. The only way to shut him up was to kill him. So why hadn't he? Easy enough. It was all part of the game. He would lead. She would follow. For her to play the part, he had to leave her a trail. 

But not too clear a trail. He had no desire for her to barge in on him during the day and drag him out into the light. He had no desire to fight her except on his own terms. He wasn't throwing the match, leaving her hints and clues for the sake of letting her win. No, not at all. It was a matter of finesse. Just enough to keep her on the scent, not enough for her to reach him. Not until he decided it was time. 

He splashed through a puddle of dripping sewer water. The best hiding place of course was the sewers. There were just too many of them for Buffy to search. But he had to admit he hated them, the smell, the damp, the slime. So he and his new playthings were headed elsewhere, an abandoned warehouse on the docks first, and once night fell they'd kill the owner of a lovely suburban house and fill the sudden vacancy. After all, the little witch wouldn't feel at home in the sewer, would she? 

*~*~*~*~* 

Buffy scuffed her boot against the dusty floor of the abandoned photo shop. Frustrated, she kicked apart a pile of bedding, her mouth a tight grimace. Her glance fell on the dead body sprawled in the corner, and she glared at it dully as if her mind were too tired to comprehend it. She stalked the length of the room, noting the sewer access door with narrowed eyes. He'd taken them to ground, and it'd take weeks, even months to find them in the tangle of underground tunnels. She'd have to hope they were headed elsewhere, an elsewhere she could track them to. She rubbed at her temples, and the headache that was beginning to pound behind her eyes. The longer she took to find him, the more bodies would pile up. The more Faith... 

She lifted the sewer access door and dropped down into the tunnels. She walked a few feet in each direction, but there were no tracks in the shallow water. Shaking her head, she returned to the ladder and climbed back into the photoshop. She exited through the front door where Angel was waiting with his crossbow for her signal. 

"He's gone," she said shortly. "Any ideas where?" 

"He must have a new place in mind," Angel said with a shake of his head. "We've already been to the mansion and you burned Spike's warehouse. My old apartment is way too small." Buffy clenched her fists, and nodded. 

"Maybe Giles or Willow will have some ideas," she said, motioning with her head for him to follow her. Angel shouldered the crossbow and fell in step behind her. "It's only a few hours to sunset now," she continued as they began to walk. "We should get everyone home, or locked in at Giles' for the night." 

Angel nodded. "We'll find him," 

"I know," Buffy replied, her heels punishing the pavement beneath her. But would they find him soon enough, before he killed again? She clenched her fists, and pushed the thought away. They'd find him. 


	10. Three Doors: Part Ten

_It's a question of trust  
It's a question of not letting  
What we've built up  
Crumble to dust  
It's all of these things and more  
That keep us together  
  
A Question of Lust  
- Depeche Mode  
_

**Three Doors**   
**Part Ten**

Giles opened the door to his apartment; Buffy's short call from Willy's, with the news that Faith was dead, weighed heavy behind his eyes. He reached out a hand toward his Slayer, but she brushed past it; and he withdrew the appendage with a worried frown. He exchanged a look with Angel, seeing some of what he felt reflected in the other man's eyes. Buffy entered Giles' living room, and Willow looked up from her laptop computer silently, her eyes slightly red. Even the usually boisterous Xander looked subdued, studying his hands where they lay in his lap. Buffy flinched slightly, but her steps did not falter. She stood next to the couch where Willow sat, and the other girl looked at her, stricken. 

"Will?" Buffy started. 

"I- I didn't like her," Willow said. "But I didn't want her dead. I-" The hacker's voice cracked, and she broke off, blinking. 

"None of us wanted this," Buffy said. Angel moved closer to the Slayer, touching her shoulder hesitantly. She took a step away from his hand, and he tilted his head, hiding the pain that flickered in his eyes. "But the important thing now is that I have to stop him before it happens again." 

"Don't you mean we?" Xander asked, as Angel sank down on the couch next to Willow. "We have to stop him?" 

"I take it he was not at the address Willy gave you?" Giles said cautiously. Buffy shook her head. 

"He must have taken them out through the sewers. But no clues. I have no idea where." She turned to Xander. "And of course I want your help, but more than that I want you all alive. There's nothing more you can do today and nightfall is coming soon." She looked at Willow, then at Xander. "I want you to go home. Go to school tomorrow. Try to keep from ruining your lives." 

"Buffy-" Willow started to protest. 

"Don't invite anyone in tonight," Buffy interrupted. "We can't know for sure, but we have to assume Faith told him about the fact that there's a human version of him walking around. Even if she didn't, he'll find out sooner or later. He'll use it against us if he can. Be sure it's our Angel before you do or say anything." Angel nodded agreement. 

"What about-" Xander started. 

"And I mean don't invite _anyone_. Not just Angel, anyone. He's got minions now." 

"Buffy," Xander said. "We're here to help. You can't just shove us around and ignore what we want." Buffy sighed, her face suddenly old, tired. 

"I'm not," she said. "I just have to get through this. I have to make sure we all get through this." 

"It wasn't your fault," Xander said. "It's a horrible thing, and I don't think any of us are really dealing yet. But you can't blame yourself." Buffy snorted, and shook her head, closing her eyes against the tears that prickled in her eyes. 

"Xander is right," Giles said. "Faith's death is a tragedy. But she was a Slayer, more than anyone else she was herself aware the risks." 

"So because she was forced by her destiny to fight the monsters, it's not that bad when the monsters kill her?" Buffy snapped. "What he did to her, no one should have to go through that." 

"Do you-" Willow hesitated. "Do you want to talk about it?" 

"No," Buffy said shortly. "It's beside the point. We'll deal with it later." 

"What about the body?" Angel said quietly, his eyes on the ground. "What if someone finds it? They'll think you killed her." 

"Because of the stake," Buffy finished. Willow, Xander and Giles exchanged a look of sudden understanding. "You're right. It'd take too long for us to bury her in the graveyard. We can't spend the whole night digging a grave with Angelus roaming around." 

"We could put her in one of the tombs in a mausoleum," Xander suggested. Buffy's eyes flickered, her hands clenching by her side. She quickly crossed her arms over her chest. 

"No. We can't just stuff her in with another body," Buffy said. 

"Cremation," Giles stated. Buffy twitched, then forced herself to nod. 

"Fine. Angel and I can take her to the funeral home tonight. His car's at the mansion, and I know where the cremation thing is since I used it on my so-called date with Owen." Xander nodded, the ghost of a smile touching his lips. "I don't want to talk about this anymore." 

"We all need a little time," Giles agreed. "But we can't pretend this didn't happen. Whatever problems she was dealing with, Faith deserves more." Buffy nodded silently, bowing her head. 

"I know." She looked up. "Now, please go home. There's only a little daylight left." Willow sat still a moment, looking at the hard mask Buffy wore. She glanced at Xander who was staring at Angel, his brow furrowed. Then she picked up her backpack and put her laptop in it. 

"I'll check the net to see if I can get any hints on where Angel might take the others. Abandoned buildings and that kind of thing." Buffy smiled through tight lips. 

"Thanks, Will." She stood up as Willow rose to her feet. "I want to walk you home. It's close to sunset, and I don't want to take any chances." 

"I'm staying here," Xander said. 

"Xander," Buffy started. "You've been-" 

"No," he said, raising his hand. "I told you before. You can't tell me what to do. My parents aren't going to miss me, and if I want to go to school I can just as easily go from here." His glance drifted back to Angel. The other man sat on the couch, his back stiff, his heavy head propped in his hands. "I'm staying." 

"Okay," Buffy said with a sigh. "I'll be back in a few minutes." Angel roused himself as the others began to move, and stood up with a grunt of pain to walk with Buffy to the door. "Someone should make sure Wesley is heading home." 

"I'll do that," Giles said. 

"I'll come along," Angel said. 

"No, you won't," Buffy answered. Angel stared at her silently, then bowed his head. "Just rest," she said more gently. "Please." He nodded his head and held the door open as the two girls walked outside. 

"Be careful," he called before closing the door. He turned around, and saw Xander quickly shift his gaze to the floor. He shook his head slightly, then returned to the couch, sagging into the cushions. He watched as Giles entered the kitchen and called the library's phone number. When he turned his head away from the Watcher he caught Xander staring a second time. 

"What?" he asked, exasperation creeping into his tired voice. 

"What what?" Xander said quickly. "There's no what." 

"Xander," Angel warned. 

"What?" the boy answered. 

"Just stop staring," Angel sighed, and closed his eyes. Xander looked over at Giles, then back at Angel. 

"I guess it's just that I've never seen you really hurt before." Angel opened his eyes, and studied Xander, his forehead wrinkling as he considered whether to ignore the comment or take it seriously. Xander's solemn face convinced him to answer sincerely. 

"You saw me after Spike did that ritual. I couldn't even walk." Xander nodded, his eyes narrowed as he remembered Buffy and Kendra pulling Angel through a wall of fire. 

"True," he said. "But even though you were hurt, you seemed like you were in less pain. And you healed so fast. The next time I saw you, you were pretty much fine. Now. I don't know. It's not just that you're hurt. You look ragged. Tired." He shrugged his shoulders. 

"Thanks," Angel said wryly. 

"For once I didn't actually mean to insult you," Xander said. He hesitated, not liking the feeling of opening himself up to the person beside him, a person he'd distrusted, even hated. But when he looked at Angel he saw only an exhausted man, a worried man, a man he could almost relate to. "It's..." Xander said. "I never thought of you as human before. And now it's like you're more human than--" he broke off, ashamed and confused. 

"Buffy," Angel whispered, and saw Xander nod tightly, then avert his eyes. 

Xander hurried to cover the silence, sheering away from a topic too painful to handle. "It's just weird, you know? It's throwing me a little." 

"It's weird for me too you know," Angel agreed. "I'd forgotten how it feels to be human. Everything seems brighter, and harsher. The pain is more real." 

"Is it better being a vampire?" Xander asked. "To be stronger and the healing, all that..." 

"No," Angel said, with a smile. "I'll take the bruises and the mortality any day." Xander shook his head, looking Angel full in the face. 

"I don't get it," he said. "I mean if you're the same person, only without the superpowers then what's so great about that." 

"But I'm not," Angel said, and Xander saw wonder light his features. "I'm not the same person. Before it was always a struggle, the soul and demon, the vampire nature that ran in my blood. Now," Angel smiled, almost laughing. "Now I'm free." 

Xander shook his head again as Giles came toward them from the kitchen. "Hey Giles, you want to get in on this. We're talking the nature of the beast and stuff. It's right up your alley." Giles sat down, and Xander turned back to Angel. "I still...It's too complicated for me. I can't separate you out like that. I can't define what part of you is missing. I can't think of you as parts." 

"But Angelus is a separate part now," Angel said. "Literally." 

"Yeah, but saying he's a separate part implies that even though he's separate he's still part of you," Xander said. "Like you can take the twinkie filling out of the twinkie, but it's still a part of the twinkie. Or is it?" Angel chuckled despite himself. 

"It's difficult to draw a line. The difference between human beings capable of evil and demons isn't a clear one," Giles pointed out. 

"True," Angel agreed. "But believe me. I can feel a difference. It's there, even if it can't be defined." The three men sat thoughtfully for a moment. 

"I guess I can see the difference," Xander said. "Not just the physical. I mean, you're all silent and never say more than you have to, and then you're sitting here getting into discussions. It's..." 

"Disconcerting," Giles suggested. 

"Yeah," Xander agreed, then hurried to continue. "Not that I don't like the change. And I'm happy for you and all. But it's an adjustment." 

"You have no idea," Angel said with a sigh. 

"But you just got done saying how you wouldn't trade it," Xander said. 

"I barely dared to dream of this I wanted it so badly," Angel said. "That doesn't mean it's easy." 

"If it were easy, it wouldn't be human," Xander said. "Or something like that." Angel smiled, and Xander returned the smile. He looked away, suddenly uncomfortable, uncertain of how he felt, how he should feel. He darted a glance back at Angel looking for the person who'd killed Miss Calendar, a thing like the one that had killed Jessie. He looked for evil, into the face of a murderer. But all he was was a person, confused, fallible, human, a person he could almost bring himself to trust. 

* * * * * * * * 

Mayor Richard Wilkins III glared disapprovingly at a speck of dirt on his desk before scrubbing at the offensive spot with an immaculate white handkerchief. He looked up from his desk to the three vampires standing in his office. One of the vampires stood sandwiched between two of the mayor's henchmen. He shifted uneasily under the mayor's gaze, absently touching the bruise that lingered on his cheek from the brawl with Angelus. The Mayor sat down in his large desk chair, and tilted his head slightly to the side. 

"Now what is it you want, son?" he said. "Thomas, is it? You're showing initiative coming to me. I like that. But my time is valuable," he giggled, "although I do seem to have an unlimited amount of it." 

"It's about Faith," Thomas answered. The mayor went very still, and the vampire fidgeted under his gaze. Swallowing, he continued, "I think she's dead." He flinched when the mayor's gaze skewered him, then rushed to finish. "Angel came and took over our nest. The bastard was bragging about it to us." 

"Did you see a body?" the mayor asked. "Any proof?" 

"No," the vampire said. "But he seemed really sure of himself." 

"That means nothing," the mayor said standing, and leaning with his fists against his desk. "Faith is a good girl. She can handle herself in a fight." 

"I-I know," the vampire stuttered. "I thought-" 

"Do you know where Angel is now?" the mayor interrupted. 

"No," Thomas admitted. "I escaped while he was taking us from our old hideout." 

"Then I don't suppose you have any more to tell us," the mayor said nodding. One of the two vampires standing silently beside Thomas grabbed the smaller vampire. "Don't do it here," the mayor said. "Dust you know." The vampire nodded, dragging a struggling Thomas outside, deaf to his pleas and threats. The Mayor turned to the other vampire, who stood at attention. 

"You find out whether this is true," he said, his face hot, his eyes feverishly bright. "You find her. You find my Faith, you find her and bring her back here or you'll all die." The vampire inclined his head and backed out of the room cautiously, afraid to take his eyes off his employer, though he desperately wanted to look away. He exhaled a sigh of relief as the door closed behind him, and hurried to escape the sounds of things shattering against the wall of the office. 

* * * * * * * 

Angelus dropped the drained body of the well-dressed young woman who'd been stupid enough to invite him into her home. Janet and a blond vampire named Steven looked up from the woman's husband, their lips red with blood. A third and fourth vampire came down the stairs carrying two small children's limp bodies in their arms. They tossed the unconscious children onto the couch, and Angelus smiled slowly. 

"Tomorrow," he said, and when he laughed the children on the couch whimpered though they were lost in the depths of unconsciousness.


	11. Three Doors: Part Eleven

_I will try not to burden you._   
_I can hold these inside. I will hold my breath_   
_until all these shivers subside,_   
_just look in my eyes._

_I will try not to worry you._   
_I have seen things that you will never see._   
_Leave it to memory me. I shudder to breathe._   
  
_Try Not to Breathe_   
_ - REM_

**Three Doors**   
**Part Eleven**

Buffy looked away from her book when Xander and Angel's muted conversation grew loud enough to break her concentration. She almost smiled, shaking her head in disbelief. She never would have thought they'd have anything in common, anything to talk about. But there they were. Holding a book between them, but not really looking at it. Talking. She shook her head again, and her gaze shifted to the clock on Giles' desk. Almost midnight. Her hand clenched, snapping the pencil she had been tapping absently against her palm. It was time to get Faith's body. She caught Angel's gaze when he and Xander looked up at the crack of wood splintering, and tapped her wrist with her fingertip. He nodded and stood up. 

"I could come too," Xander said, his voice almost hopeful. "It's just burial detail, right?" Buffy shook her head. 

"I don't want any of you out at night. Period." 

"What about him?" 

"It's different," Buffy said, rubbing an impatient hand against the side of her leg. 

"He's just as human as I am now," he said, and Angel smiled despite himself. 

"Maybe so," Buffy agreed. "But I only need one person to help me carry the body to Angel's car. And he's still bigger and more experienced in a fight." 

"Great," Xander pouted. "Pull the logic card on me. What a crock." Buffy rolled her eyes, and motioned again for Angel. He followed her to the door, and waited while she pulled on her light coat. Then she held it open as he passed through. He wiggled his fingers in a small wave as Xander and Giles watched them go. She shut the door, pretending she hadn't seen the worried glance they'd exchanged. She'd make sure there was nothing to worry about. She and Angel would get rid of Faith's body, and then they could focus on the real problem. If they all stayed careful, vigilant, then there was nothing Angelus could do. The others were safe as long as she kept them out of the night. It was only a matter of time before she found him, and in the meantime there was nothing he could do. Nothing to worry about. Right. 

* 

Buffy took a deep breath of the cool night air, expanding her lungs to their fullest capacity, taking in air until her chest ached. Then she expelled it with a sigh, and turned her gaze to the street, watching her feet land on the rough black surface of the pavement. She absently chewed on her lower lip, wondering where he was right now, whether he was hiding in some dripping corner of the sewer, or in an abandoned factory, or prowling the street, drawing some innocent to their death. She clenched her jaw, fighting the hopelessness that rolled up from her belly. Angel's hand rested on her back, drawing her from her tumbling thoughts, and she turned her head to see him fall into step beside her. 

"Buffy," he said tentatively. She nodded in answer, and he continued hesitantly. "I've noticed you...pulling away." She stepped away from the touch of his hand on her back and crossed her arms over her chest, continuing her brisk walking pace. 

"What do you mean?" she said. "I have to focus-" 

"No, I know that," Angel interrupted. "I understand that. But you're doing more than focusing. You're shutting us out." 

"Shutting you out, you mean." 

"No, well yes, me too, but not just me," Angel started. He stopped walking, helplessly staring at his hands folded in front of his body. Buffy took a few steps, then realized Angel wasn't following. She turned to face him, and took a step closer. 

"Hey," she said. "Angel, look...I'm not trying to shut you or anyone else out. It's not personal. It's just that this is really difficult." 

"I know that," Angel said. "But I've seen you face more powerful demons, and I've seen the others help you do it. I don't think I've ever seen you like this." 

"Like what," Buffy said, her voice flat. Angel lowered his eyes from hers, then returned his gaze to her face, reaching toward her slightly with one curved hand as if he would pull her by some invisible cord. 

"I don't know. We've patrolled together so many times, and sometimes we'd talk about things, important stuff or just what stupid homework assignment you had that night. And other times we wouldn't talk at all. But even then I felt like we were doing things together." He curled his hand into a fist. "Why is this so different?" 

"You of all people should know." Angel's mouth twisted slightly, and he stumbled back a step. "You must remember. How it was last year. How I didn't stop you...him." Buffy half raised her hand, noticed the tips of her fingers shaking slightly, and dropped it back down to her side. "Maybe I am pushing you all away, but I'm doing it to keep you safe. I'm scared," Buffy said, choking on the words. "I'm scared. And the reason this is different is because it's you. Or a part of you. You of all people should-" She broke off, gathering her composure. Angel took a cautious step closer, then he closed the remaining distance between them and pulled her into his arms. Her back stiffened, then her muscles twitched as she relaxed slightly in his arms and eased her arm around his waist. 

"Please Angel," she said, turning her head up to meet his eyes. 

"I do understand," Angel said. "I do. But this is more than just Angelus. I feel like there's something changed between us. I feel..." 

"It's just the situation," Buffy said. "If we had the time to spend together. If we were free." She stopped, thinking suddenly that if it weren't for her Angel's humanity would have set him free of the nightmare she lived in. "If I were free." Angel looked into the beautiful blue eyes of the woman he loved and tried to believe what she said was true because he was too afraid to push her any further, too unsure of his place beside her. He held her body in his arms, digging his fingers slightly into the hardness of her ribs, and told himself he was wrong. 

"I just want you to know you don't have to do this by yourself," he said. "I need you to feel like you can come to me, or to the others for help. You can tell me-" 

"Thank you," she said, but she was too cautious to tighten her hold on his body, too conscious of the pain she could cause him, too aware of his mortality. She listened to his heartbeat, the dull, regular thud both beautiful and frightening. Frightening because it meant one more person she was responsible for, one more person it was her duty to protect, one more person she could lose. She shuddered and pulled away from his embrace. 

"We'll talk," she promised. "Later." He nodded, his brow still furrowed. She reached up to touch his forehead. "Don't worry." The corner of his lip turned up in a half smile. 

"Nothing to worry about." She smiled back, but they both knew her smile was as empty as his statement. 

They completed the rest of the walk to the mansion in silence, though Buffy did not pull away when Angel reached for her hand, and wrapped in his own. She smiled at him, and tried not to think about death or blood or guilt or where Angelus was. She tried to think of sunlight and how she and Angel would spend full days just lying on the beach when this was over. Even in her mind, the sunlight would turn dark, and Angel's lips would smirk, and he would hold out Faith's body, and she would force her feet to keep moving along the sidewalk. And when she turned to Angel she would smile and pretend she wasn't about to scream. 

When they reached the mansion, she let Angel enter the house with her, but motioned for him to stay a step or two behind, just in case. And she turned to him for answers he didn't have when they stared helpless and appalled at the empty space where Faith's body had lain, at the drops of dried blood on the grimy floor that were the only evidence they hadn't imagined seeing her there a few hours earlier. 

"Why would he take her?" Buffy mumbled, and Angel shook his head. 

"Maybe someone else found her and called the police," he said. 

"What does this mean?" The words were thick and slow in her mouth, and she hoped it hid the panic that bubbled in her blood, fizzing against the back of her nose and eyes, like claustrophobia. 

"We can't know yet," Angel said. "Either someone plans to use the body against us, or it's just a coincidence." 

"What about the Dagnu, all powerful thing?" she said, blinking as she forced the words to something resembling a normal pace. "Would it have taken her?" 

"If it did, then maybe that's a good thing," Angel said. "We wanted her body hidden." She shook her head, squeezing her eyes closed as if she looked into a painfully bright light. 

"We have to assume it's going to be used against us," she said. "We have to get back to Giles. Maybe there's a spell or something we can do to find out who did this." Angel nodded, and tried to guess what to do. He reached for her hand again, and she touched his cheek lightly. "We should hurry." She touched her lips to the hand that held her, pulled free, and hurried out of the building. 

* 

The personal items that usually rested on the Mayor's desk, his nameplate, his calendar and pens, were all stacked neatly to the side of his desk. Faith's body lay across the cleared wooden surface, her closed eyes turned toward the center of the room. The Mayor stood beside the desk, staring down at her. He reached out a tentative hand and gently stroked her hair. His fingers touched the butt of the stake that protruded from her chest. 

"Are you going to turn it over to the police?" the leader of his vampire minions asked. The mayor shivered and looked up from the body. 

"No." He returned his gaze to Faith's pale face. 

"But the Slayer," the vampire said carefully. 

"An autopsy would reveal that the stake wasn't the cause of the death. I'm sure it happened hours later." He pointed to the marks on Faith's neck. "She died from massive blood loss. The Slayer just made sure she stayed dead." 

"But the police could still charge her with something, right?" 

"Perhaps," the Mayor said. "But I think my little girl has suffered enough indignity. I won't have an autopsy done to prove what I already know." He turned on his heel to face the leader of his vampire minions, his voice unnaturally calm when he spoke. 

"You'll have someone take that thing out," he said, pointing to the stake. "Clean her up..." He stopped, then continued. "Put her in that pink dress I bought her last week. She didn't want to wear it when she... Said it wasn't her style. That's just silly you know. Pretty girl like her, nice things are her style. And we're going to give her a nice burial. A nice... She was..." The vampire nodded. 

"I can do it personally," he said. 

"No," the mayor answered. "I have something else for you to take care of. I want Angel found and brought to me. I want to kill him here. Take as many as you need, but don't fail me. You know how I hate it when we don't work up to our potential." 

The vampire nodded. "Sir," he said, and left the Mayor at his desk. 


	12. Three Doors: Part Twelve

_I came to cut you up  
I came to knock you down  
I came around to tear your little world apart  
I came to shut you up  
I came to drag you down  
I came around to tear your little world apart and break your soul apart  
  
Vow  
- Garbage_  
  


**Three Doors**   
**Part Twelve**

Angel walked behind Buffy, lagging with his head bowed in thought. He was useless, helpless. He should have been able to figure out where Angelus was. He should have guessed his next move. He remembered Xander's confusion about what was a part of him and what wasn't, and he felt the same confusion. He had over 400 years of memories. He knew Angelus better than anyone. He was. He had been. He gritted his teeth. Why couldn't he figure this out? He lifted his eyes from the road to Buffy and watched the back of her golden head, the tight set of her shoulders, the slight swing of her arms. He glared at the sky and wished for something to hit.   
  
She turned suddenly, tilting her head, her hair brushing the side of her neck. He started to smile despite himself, but stopped, reminding himself of the gravity of the situation. She almost nodded, and he was sure she knew, understood, accepted. She reached out a hand to touch his stomach with her fingertips.   
  
"You don't have to hide it," she said. And he nodded, smiling slightly simply because he could. "If you can't smile or laugh, you'll go insane." But he noticed she didn't smile herself. He placed his hand over hers, capturing it against his chest. She curled her hand inside his, and he squeezed gently before letting go. "I think-" Pain burst behind his eyes with the impact of a crushing blow to the back of his head and Angel reeled, stumbling, half falling. "Angel!" Buffy said, her voice sharp with fear. She stopped his fall with steady arms and set him back on his feet.  
  
He turned toward his attacker, but he was sluggish, and she had already passed him, putting herself between him and the vampire. Arms grabbed him from behind, and he cursed under his breath, struggling against the grip on his torso. He broke the hold, and used his leg to trip the vampire up, then used the moment of breathless hesitation to take stock of the fight. There were five vampires surrounding them. Buffy fought two at a time, her limbs moving like machinery, smooth and merciless, sending one to his knees with a sweeping kick, and punching the other in the face. The third was lunging toward Angel from the ground where he'd fallen when Angel tripped him, and the other two were hurrying down the street toward the melee. Angel stomped on the vampire's hand, and caught his chin with the toe of his boot, stunning him.  
  
But the adrenaline rushing in his ears didn't move his body fast enough to evade the grasp of the two latecomers. One of them held him, while the other punched him in the face. His head snapped back and the dull thudding of his head exploded. Blood dripped into his eye, thick and metallic. He blinked it away as best he could, and saw the next punch coming. He lunged to the side, pulling the vamp that held him slightly off balance. The punch still grazed his temple with enough force to cloud his vision with floating white sparks and green dots. He kicked out at his attacker, but the vampire shrugged the blow aside like an impertinent gnat and closed in again.   
  
Buffy's hands clamped down on the vampire's shoulder, and she jerked him toward her, slamming her stake through his back before he'd fully realized she was there. The vampire holding Angel tightened his hold, pressing the human shield Angel provided closer to his body.  
  
"I'll kill him," the vampire said.  
  
"Bad idea," Buffy answered, her eyes flickering with a mixture of hate, fear and the heaving excitement of the hunt. The vampire Angel had stunned got to his feet and closed in from the side, but Buffy stopped his approach with a spinning kick. The vampire holding Angel used the distraction to pull Angel back with him several yards. Angel dragged his feet against the pavement, and the vampire put his hands on Angel's throat.  
  
"You come with me or you die," he said, squeezing warningly.  
  
"I'm already dead," Angel said, pulling forward suddenly in an attempt to break the vampire's hold. Buffy crouched beside the fourth vampire and staked him neatly through the heart, pulling the stake back as the dust fell. She turned on the balls of her feet, and rose out of her crouch, changing the grip on her stake.  
  
"Then why can I hear your heartbeat?" the vampire hissed, yanking Angel back another foot. "It sounds human. Weak. I don't know how you killed Faith." Angel stopped struggling briefly, his head cocked as an inkling of understanding blossomed.  
  
"Who sent you?"  
  
"You'll see soon enough," the vampire muttered. Angel lunged again, and the vampire's arms jerked with the movement, but his grip held. Buffy advanced slowly, her stake in hand. "Don't come any closer." The vampire lowered his teeth to the side of Angel's throat, just barely splitting the skin with his teeth. Angel shivered and stiffened at the needle of pain and the promise of death.  
  
"You're bluffing," Buffy said. The vampire closed his mouth slightly, flicking his tongue across the shallow cut on Angel's neck. Angel's eyes rolled back, trying to see what the vampire was doing. Buffy feinted to the right, and leapt at the two of them. The vampire shoved Angel to the ground behind him and caught the brunt of Buffy's attack with his hands. Angel sprawled on the ground, small beads of hardened tar imbedding themselves in his hands, while the vampire countered a series of punches Buffy threw at his torso. She slipped under his guard with an elbow to the chin. His head cracked backwards with the blow, and he stumbled closer to Angel, who moved to grab him from behind. Buffy jammed her stake past the vampire's upthrust arms, and Angel watched dust sift through his reaching hands.   
  
Buffy turned her head from side to side, panting slightly with exertion. Satisfied that they were alone, she turned her gaze to Angel. She offered him her hand, and when he grasped it, pulled him to his unsteady feet. He rubbed his hand absently against the small cut on his neck, pulling away fingertips tinged with blood.   
  
"Are you hurt?" she said. He touched the cut over his eyebrow, and shook his head ruefully at the sting.   
  
"Just my pride." He shrugged. "What about you?"  
  
"I'm fine," she said, the words clipped short. She looked up, met his eyes, and shuddered, launching herself into his arms. He enclosed her in a tight embrace that she returned with enough force to make him catch his breath. "I thought I was going to lose you." She buried her face in the folds on his shirt, and her voice was infused with fear that made her body seem small and fragile in his arms. "When he hit you-" she took a deep, trembling breath and lifted herself onto her tip toes, her face upturned. Angel lowered his lips to hers and she kissed him hungrily, her lips seeking and finding some reassurance that she had not lost him. He pulled away slowly.   
  
"I'm all right," he said, running his hand up and down her back. "We got through it." She pulled back enough to meet his eyes.  
  
"But how long can our luck last?"   
  
"It wasn't luck-" Angel started.  
  
"Don't tell me that," Buffy interrupted. "If I had made just one mistake. Gotten there just one second later."  
  
"They weren't going to kill me," Angel said.  
  
"What are you talking about?" Buffy said, pulled free from his embrace. "The only reason you're not dead is that vamp decided to do the hostage thing." Angel shook his head.  
  
"They were going to take me somewhere."  
  
"Where?" Buffy said. "Why?"  
  
"I don't know. They guy wouldn't say who sent him."  
  
"Angelus," she said.  
  
"I don't think so," Angel said.  
  
"Who else could it be?" she asked. "For all we know, you're target number one for him. I can't imagine him liking the idea of someone sharing his face."  
  
"Or sharing you," Angel said, and she smiled uncomfortably. "But if it's him then why didn't he come after me himself," Angel said. "And the vamp was talking about Faith, if Angelus sent him he'd know I wasn't the one who killed her."  
  
"No," Buffy said, and Angel could see her close her mind to any other explanation but the tattered one she clung to, like a security blanket designed to feed her anger and obsession. "It's him."  
  
"You're letting him cloud your judgment," he said, and she skewered him with a look of betrayed anger.  
  
"I'm not letting him do anything," she snapped. "If anything's clouding my judgment it's you." Angel opened his mouth, wanting to express his hurt. "When you're in danger I...I can't think straight." She stopped. "I could have lost that fight tonight because I couldn't focus on anything but you."  
  
"You handled yourself fine," Angel said. "You ran through those guys like they were nothing."  
  
"Luck." She turned on her heel and began the walk back to Giles' apartment.   
  
"Wait," Angel said. "We're not finished."   
  
"We're not going to stand around here waiting for someone to come kill you or kidnap you or whatever you think they were doing." She kept walking, and after a moment, Angel turned and followed her.   
  
"Wait," he said again, but she didn't hear or didn't listen. He wasn't sure which. He wasn't sure of much.   
  
*  
  
Xander slumped against the couch, resting the back of his head against the top of the cushions, and covering his eyes with the crook of his crossed arms. He had just fallen asleep when Buffy and Angel had burst into the apartment, one after the other, and turned on the lights. Giles had come down the stairs in his bathrobe, and Buffy had explained that Faith's body was gone, that they'd been attacked.  
  
She was sure Angelus was behind it. She was the only one. He exerted some pressure on his closed eyelids with his arms and watched pink dots and lines appear. He didn't understand it. Giles and Angel had been hammering at her for almost an hour, pointing out over and over again that there had to be some connection between the two things. The attack was obviously about Faith. She didn't see why that meant it wasn't Angelus. Who else could it be? He bit his lip thoughtfully, remembering Giles' similar refusal to believe the ghost at the school was anyone other than Jenny. He wasn't sure who was right here, as far as he was concerned Angelus could be responsible. But the fact that Buffy was blind to anything else worried him. He tried to concentrate on the conversation despite the fact that it was going circles. The occasional raised voice helped him to stay awake. It was sort of surreal hearing the hostility and tension Buffy and Angel directed at each other. He was ashamed to remember a time when he would have cheered any disagreement between them. Vaguely, he wondered whether they were sitting at the table, or standing squared off against each other. He half wanted to open his eyes, but the light was bright, and he was half asleep again. Giles repeated some sort of calming words he'd said fifteen minutes earlier, and Xander sighed. He settled his head more comfortably against the pillows and hoped that by the time he woke up they'd have settled the matter.   
  
*  
  
Willow ran a brush through the red strands of her hair. She cradled the phone with one hand, while brushing with the other, and peered at herself in the mirror.  
  
"I know," she said into the phone. "But you weren't really involved the last time, Oz." She shook her head slightly, and put down the brush. "And you didn't really know the people who got hurt." She sighed, and pulled a beaded bracelet onto her wrist. "Okay, I meant killed more than I meant hurt." She smiled slightly. "Point taken." She smiled again, then glanced at her clunky plastic watch. "I have to go get breakfast. Yeah it's the non-pulpy kind." She smiled more widely. "Yeah, me too. I'll see you at school." She turned the phone off and set it on her dresser, then pulled on a yellow sweater over her shirt.  
  
A few minutes later she sat at the table, spreading jam on her toast. She ate quickly, and gulped down a small glass of orange juice, then strapped on her backpack and headed out the door. She looked nervously at the sky as she started down the street, but only the barest wisps of clouds marred the bright blue of the atmosphere and the sun beat down with reassuring yellow heat. She laughed at herself a little, chiding herself for her paranoia, then turned her attention to remembering all the study questions for the upcoming history test.  
  
When rough, scaly hands grabbed her arms tight enough to draw blood through her shirt with pointed claws, she was too surprised to scream. And by the time she'd realized it would be a good idea, she had been dragged several feet back, and lifted up into the air. Her cry for help came weak and useless as the hands stuffed her into the back of a van that idled in the middle of the road.  
  
When she turned her head away from the scaly snouts of the demons that held her, she looked into Angel's smiling face and her fear rose to panic. Her second scream was interrupted when Angelus reached out to gently stroke her cheek with a cold finger. She whipped her head to the side and clamped her teeth on the finger, drawing blood. He shook his head at her, clucking in disapproval. She fought the urge to shrink back from him, deeper into the demon hands that held her. When he slapped her with his bleeding hand, she swung with the force of the blow, then slumped unconscious when one of the demon's fists came down on top of her head.   
  
Angel licked the dripping blood from his finger, and bared his teeth at Willow. He took a piece of rope from the floor of the empty van, and tied her hands behind her back tight enough to rub her wrists raw and turn her hands purple. Tight enough to hurt, the kind of constant pain that would tug at the back of her mind even after he'd made her scream in agony. It'd be that nagging pain, throbbing, then numb as her circulation died, that would break her. All the sharp pain, the blood he'd draw, all the cuts and bruises and exquisite, complex tortures would be multiplied by the constant chaffing and rubbing and burning and aching that would start so small and build, sink, until it settled in her bones. And she would tell him anything he wanted her to; she'd tell him how to do her silly spells, or that the Pope was her father, or if he wanted, that Buffy loved him. She'd tell him about the human self Faith had said existed.   
  
The very idea disgusted him, filled his mouth with rust and dirt. He hated thinking about a lesser being with his face, his hands, touching Buffy. Taking what was his. And to talk about it would only feed his anger and disgust. He knelt beside Willow's prone body on the floor of the van and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. He could taste the sweetness of her pain in the salt of her skin, and it drove out the taste of his hatred of the other. She would tell him what he wanted to know, and her pain would taste all the sweeter when she begged for mercy that could come only in the form of death.   
  
The van entered the garage of Angelus' stolen home and stopped with a jerk. The demons moved to pick Willow up, but he motioned them away. He lifted her limp form, cradling her in his arms, and carried her into the house. The red strands of her hair clung to his chest in fragile wisps, and her lax hands dragged, brushing against his legs. He listened to the gentle throb of her heartbeat, the rush of blood through her veins with each beat, and thought of how the Slayer's heart would pound faster, harder, how she'd sink and sway, lightheaded, stricken when she found the mutilated body. He smiled to himself as he carried her inside to the dining room, almost smelling the tears that would fall from their eyes, Willow's, Buffy's, almost tasting the salt. And when his tongue remembered the taste of Buffy's sweat, the salt tang of her body, he only sank his hand in Willow's hair and smiled again. Her tears would pay the price for the memories of human emotion; her blood would wash him clean. Her life was forfeit to the game.  
  
*  
  
When Willow woke she wondered for a moment why her head hurt, and why she was sleeping in such an uncomfortable position. Then she raised her drooping head and remembered. Tied to a dining room chair, she watched Angel hand two crying children no older than three or four to the demons who'd grabbed her.   
  
"Payment as promised," Angel said with a smile. The demons grunted something she couldn't understand, but Angel nodded his head as if he could. They grabbed the children, and she squeezed her eyes shut, but she couldn't shut her ears against the pitiful screams that stopped abruptly, or the sickening smell of blood that rushed up her nose. A hand grabbed her chin, and shook her head until her teeth rattled in her head. Her eyes popped open, and she gagged, her body jerking against the ropes that held her. She closed her eyes again, but the image of the little boy's head stayed right behind her eyelids. His eyes stared back at her though the demon had bitten into his head like an apple. She bit her lip and swallowed the vomit that rose in her throat.  
  
She concentrated on breathing through her mouth, but the smell of the blood was heavy on her tongue. And her ears refused to stop hearing sounds. She wished for deafness, blindness, numbness. The soft drip of blood against the tile. And a louder plop. She shuddered, wondering, wanting to open her eyes, and hating herself for it. A hand settled on the top of her head, twining in her hair until it hurt. A sharp tug and her eyes popped open again, filled with tears. She stared blankly at the small severed hand on the floor, at the smears of blood and pretended it was all a dream, or a TV show, not real. Angelus' hand ran from her hair to the back of her neck, and paused there, cupping the column of her throat in a large, cold hand.  
  
"Keep your eyes open," he whispered. She immediately closed them, an act of defiance. He gave her hair another tug and she fought not to whimper as a hank of the strands were jerked out of her scalp.  
  
She opened her eyes, and stared straight ahead. She pretended it was only a game. It was their Angel, and he was going to untie her. Buffy was going to burst through the door any minute. She watched one of the demons scoop the hand off the floor and pop it in his mouth, like licking a plate clean. She didn't blink. She pretended it would be over soon.   
  



	13. Three Doors: Part Thirteen

_Honey, help me out of this mess  
I'm a stranger to myself  
But don't reach for me, I'm too far away  
I don't wanna talk 'cause there's nothing left to say  
  
So my darling, give me your absence tonight  
Take all of your sympathy and leave it outside  
'Cause there's no kind of loving that can make this alright  
I'm trying to find a place I belong  
  
The Child is Gone  
- Fiona Applie_  
  


**Three Doors**   
**Part Thirteen**

Light poured through the window, falling across Buffy's face in brilliant swatches. She stirred in the arm chair she'd curled up in, turning squinty eyes to the sun. She unfolded her legs, rubbing them briskly through the pants she'd exchanged Jenny's skirt for to renew the circulation. The book she'd drifted off reading had left an angry imprint of its hard edges on her arm. She untucked it and rolled her head from side to side, wincing at the sharp cracking of her neck. Exhaustion clung to her, but she kept her eyes open. Her gaze roamed over Xander, who was sprawled on the sofa, his arm flung up over his head, his mouth slack with sleep. She moved her stare to Angel, lying in a nest of cushions on the floor. Giles had offered them the bed before crashing three hours earlier, but they'd declined.  
  
She studied the curl of Angel's long body, the curve of his spine, the way his knees were just slightly bent. Light passed through the blinds and fell on him in wide strips. For a moment she allowed herself to enjoy the play of bright yellow-white against his still preternaturally pale skin. His face was slightly tinged with the red of sunburn, and she wished she'd thought to ask for sunblock for his sensitive skin, or noticed the burn earlier. His hand rested at his side, the fingernails shredded and cracked, rimmed with dried blood. The hand was not curled in on itself in the familiar way she knew by heart, but flung farther out, palm up, reaching. Reaching toward her. She ached with the thought that even in sleep he reached for her.   
  
She yearned too for touch, for closeness, for comfort. And as he jerked in the clutch of whatever he dreamed, she couldn't remember why she'd denied that closeness. For just a moment, with the daylight on them, it would be safe to touch and love him, to pretend she was something other than what she was. She placed the book in her chair and slid to the floor. Silently, she settled down beside him, fitting her body to his. He did not wake, but his arm curled around her waist, comfortable, solid and warm. She basked in the warmth of him and of the sun that touched them both with heat. She closed her eyes, forgetting herself in a moment of peace untainted by fear and blood. She covered his arm with her own, pressing flesh to flesh, and slipped into dreamless sleep.  
  
She woke to pounding at the front door, and looked up cautiously from the cocoon of Angel warmth she was nestled in. Angel nuzzled her throat, still half asleep.   
  
"What is that?" he murmured, not unwrapping his arm from its resting place against her waist. He pressed his spread hand to her stomach, and she closed her eyes because she wanted so much it hurt, wanted things she couldn't even define, wanted him.  
  
Xander half-sat up, rubbing his eyes as the pounding continued, rattling the door in its frame. "Is someone going to get that?"   
  
"Tired," Buffy pouted. She felt slow and lazy, her body steeped in heat. But she recognized that as easy as it would be to never move again, to forget the fights and the duty, that ease was a false promise. Forgetfulness was a habit she couldn't afford, because the people she loved would pay the debt. She began disentangling herself from her bed of cushions and Angel.  
  
"Hello?" Oz's voice drifted through the door. "Giles! Are you there?" As suddenly as if she'd been doused with ice water, sleep dropped away, and shock shivered through Buffy's body. She hurried to the door, opening it just a crack at first, making sure Oz stood alone on the doorstep before she swung it open wide.  
  
"What is it?" she asked. He entered the house, his movements jerky and uncharacteristically agitated.   
  
"Have any of you seen Willow?" he asked. She blinked at him dimly, uncomprehending.   
  
"She went home last night," she said. "She was going to go to school."  
  
"Well, she wasn't at school," he said, his voice rising despite himself. He unclenched his fist and ran it through his hair, visibly making an effot to maintain some form of emotional control. Xander and Angel wandered in from the other room, and Giles stood on the bottom step of the stairs. They crowded closer, surrounding the smaller boy.  
  
"Maybe she decided to sleep in," Buffy said, a sinking, twisting tension growing in her abdomen.  
  
"No," Oz said. "She called me this morning. She was coming to school. And then she wasn't there. I called her parents, and they didn't know anything." He took a deep breath. "This was the only other place I could think of."  
  
"There's a bunch of places she could have gone," Angel said weakly.   
  
"It's daylight," Xander added. Buffy barely heard them. Her attention was on Oz, and she could see in him the same sick, certain knowledge she felt in her gut. Somehow Angelus had gotten to Willow.   
  
"He waited until sunrise," she said vaguely, and the others stopped talking. "He did it so I'd know you weren't safe even during the day." Oz's jaw clenched so tightly, she was afraid his teeth would crack. He turned suddenly, and lashed out, dashing a pile of books from the tabletop to the floor. The all stood silent for a moment in the midst of fluttering papers.  
  
"How much time do you think we have?" Xander said, his voice low, his eyes on Willow's boyfriend as he dispensed with comforting lies.  
  
"Not much," Buffy said. She looked away from Oz and forced herself to speak the harsh words, forced herself to be blunt, honest, cruel. "But I think there is a little. He's probably..." She stopped. "He'll want to play." Oz sank to his knees, lost, and gripped his hair in his hands, his head bowed. His shoulders shook slightly, and tears splashed hot and salty against his knees. Buffy knew this was perhaps the only time she would ever see the quiet guitarist cry. She wanted to comfort him, but she couldn't. There was no comfort in her to give.  
  
Xander knelt beside Oz and put a tentative arm around the smaller boy's shoulders. Oz stiffened, resisting, and Xander began to lift his arm. Then he stopped and lowered the arm more firmly, pulling Oz closer to him. "I love her too," he said, and Oz sagged against him, allowing his pain to mingle with Xander's.   
  
Buffy stared blindly at her friends crouched on the ground, crushed by their fear and sorrow. She screamed silently that she'd been careful, tried so hard to keep them safe, made sure none of them were alone at night. But she hadn't been careful enough. She'd been the one who'd sent Willow home. If she hadn't done that, Willow might have still been at Giles'. Willow might have been curled safe on the couch. Already, one dead, and Willow captured. Faith had been the lucky one.  
  
With a blink, she noticed that Angel's hands were on her, that she could hear his voice, urgent, frightened. He cupped her face in his hands, and tried to meet her vacant, staring eyes. Giles' hand was on her back, begging her with the slight pressure he exerted to recognize them, respond to them. She blinked again, and shook her head free of Angel's grasp.  
  
"I'm fine," she said.  
  
"You seemed catatonic," Angel said.  
  
"I was thinking," she answered. She stretched her lips into a grimace and pretended it was a smile. Angel grabbed her hands, and squeezed them almost hard enough to hurt.  
  
"Buffy, I'm worried about you." She wished he'd squeeze a little harder; maybe the pain would bring some clarity. She looked down at their joined hands, the way one of his fingertips pressed against the flesh beneath her thumb. She imagined identical hands touching Willow, hurting her. These hands are warm, she reminded herself. Those aren't. He crushed her in a tight embrace, and she let him, but her thoughts stayed with Willow. And his arms weren't enough to comfort her.  
  
"How can we figure out where he is?" she asked, and she turned lost eyes from Angel to Giles and back. "What are we going to do?" She begged for an answer. But even as she spoke she was pulling out of Angel's embrace. She watched Xander and Oz rise to shaky feet, and join the other two men in a huddle. She stood slightly apart.   
  
"He could be anywhere," Xander said, then ducked his head and turned away from the others, scuffing the ground with his foot.   
  
"But wherever he is, he's stuck there for the rest of the day," Angel pointed out.  
  
"Is he?" Buffy said. "The daylight didn't stop him from taking Willow." She saw Oz's jaw clench and promised herself she'd make Angelus feel his pain. His pain and hers and Faith's...and Willow's. She hoped it would be enough to kill him.  
  
"He must have had help," Angel said. "He could survive in the sunlight with cover, but barely. He wouldn't have been able to capture Willow if she was in broad daylight."  
  
"Can we track that?" Buffy said, looking to Giles.  
  
"I have a few contacts in the demon world," he said. "I'll try to find out who's been hired lately and for what."  
  
"Great," Buffy said. She felt the fuzziness of her thoughts recede slightly. She took a deep breath and snapped restraints over her emotions, leashing herself as tightly as possible. Having purpose anchored her, giving her a place to direct her thoughts and her hatred.   
  
"And what about the rest of us," Oz said. "We just wait?"  
  
"What else can we do?" Angel said.  
  
"I'll patrol," Buffy said.  
  
"It's the middle of the day," Angel protested.  
  
"Not in the sewers," Buffy said. "Giles, I'll take my beeper, let me know the minute you have anything."  
  
"I'm coming," Oz said.   
  
"Me too," Angel chimed in.  
  
"And me," Xander added, turning back to the others.  
  
"No," Buffy said.  
  
"You can't expect us to just sit here and do nothing," Xander said. She knew what it was to be helpless. To wait. To be unable to act. She hated it more than any other feeling in the world. But she didn't want to add more pain to the debt she owed Angelus.   
  
"I can and do expect you to stay here," she snapped, and told herself it was for their own good. "Haven't you learned anything from this? None of you are safe! Not even in the middle of the street with the sun shining directly on you. How much more dangerous are the sewers?"  
  
"I don't care," Oz said softly.  
  
"I do," Buffy replied, her voice hard edged. "I will not lose anyone else."  
  
"But we can help; it'll take less time to comb the sewers," Xander said. "What if we get to Willow too late. What if all of us working to find her could have prevented it?" Buffy wavered for the briefest of moments, but stood firm.  
  
"No," she said. "It's too dangerous."  
  
"Let us help you," Angel said, hating the pleading in his voice.  
  
"The best way for you to help me is to stay safe," she said. "For my sake if not for your own, don't leave this house. For God's sake. Don't take the risk."  
  
"It's Willow," Xander said, and Oz nodded in taciturn agreement.   
  
"I know," Buffy said. "And I will bring her back to you."  
  
"Don't make promises you can't keep," Oz said.  
  
"I don't," Buffy answered, and she met his eyes with a look so full of hate and violence he almost feared more for her than Willow in that moment. But the moment passed, and the look he gave her in return was hot with anger, hate and pain. And all he said was, "Kill him." She nodded and strode with eager steps to the weapons chest. She stuffed an ax, some stakes, and a short sword into her leather weapons bag. Angel knelt beside her, and reached into the chest. She looked at him, and almost let him grab the crossbow for himself. Almost.  
  
"What are you doing?" she asked.  
  
"I'm coming," he said. She strengthened the shell around her heart, hardening herself with a layer of ice. She pictured ice cubes, cloudy and brittle, and traced the tiny lines in their sides with her mind's eye as she spoke.  
  
"No." The ice crept into her voice. "I said none of you."  
  
"But you said yesterday it was different with me," he said. She refused to meet his eyes, and watched the ice cubes stick together, clicking like magnets as they joined.  
  
"That was yesterday," she said. She stood up with the bag in her hand. He watched her, his eyes dark with helpless misery and self-hatred. "You're better off resting." He watched her retreating back, and when she pulled the door shut behind her, he shared a look with Xander and Oz. He rose to his feet, but Giles' voice interrupted his halfhearted decision to follow Buffy.  
  
"I could use some help with finding out who Angelus hired," Giles said. Oz and Xander stood for a moment, their muscles tight with indecision, knowing whatever they did was probably futile, that none of it would bring Willow back sooner. But knowing didn't make the bubbling panic that swelled their insides subside. The tiring, sweaty, physical task Buffy had taken for herself could drive fear and worry away more easily. But it was no more productive than the list of dead-end calls Giles would give them. Xander shrugged and joined Giles in the kitchen, where the Watcher handed him a page from a brown leather book. Angel rose and joined them as well. Oz stared at the door, wanting to look for a fight, wanting to punch and flail his hate and fear, pound his emotions into something else. Being pounded in return, feeling physical pain. The thought appealed, as if his own pain would lessen Willow's. He turned to the other men, and watched Xander dial a number. He bowed his head, and joined them.  
  
*  
  
The mayor dashed an intricately carved bone sculpture to the ground, then picked up a ceramic bowl and threw it against the wall. It burst, the bright green and blue shards scattering outward from the point of impact. His teeth were bared, his face blotchy with anger. He shook with the scream he couldn't allow to escape. His secretary sat right outside the wooden door, and minor bureaucratic officials prowled the halls. Some of them knew the truth of who he was, what he was. But very few. And screaming would certainly raise questions about his sanity. Not to mention lowering staff morale.  
  
His hands clenched, and he tightened his jaw, allowing a mental scream to roar through his head. Than he forcibly opened his fists, and pressed flat palms against his desk. He took a deep, calming breath. The another, cleansing the mind and spirit. He forced himself to sit, forced his emotions under the control of rational thought.   
  
So Angel had killed his Faith. And Angel was not dead as he was supposed to be, as the Mayor had ordered. Five of his best vampires had never reported back last night, which meant they were dead. Which meant Angel had killed them. He tapped his pencil against the edge of his desk, clicking out an impatient rhythm. Things were falling apart. The Ascension was coming and things could not be allowed to fall apart.  
  
He had no second in command. He needed someone to take care of things for him so he could concentrate on the rituals involved in the Ascension. He needed someone like Angel. He hurled the pencil across the room, and steepled his hands. True, he hated Angel. But if Angel could kill both Faith and a gang of vampires, then he was just the kind of person the Mayor needed. And there was no reason he couldn't kill the vampire after the Ascension. No reason indeed.  
  
*  
Angelus looked up at a knock on the door. "Don't answer it," he snapped, and returned his attention to Willow, who was sagging unconscious against the ropes that held her upright in her chair. He shook his head. He'd gone too fast. She'd fainted much sooner than he'd wanted her too. He looked at the blood on his hand, and absently licked it. He was out of practice.  
  
The knocking continued, and he turned on his heel with a growl, his annoyance sizzling into fury. He marched to the door, stepping over the vampires who lounged on cushions in front of the TV. He viciously kicked one of the vampires near the door, and the young dark haired boy yelped and moved quickly out of his way. When he reached the door, he almost tore it off its hinges with the force of his anger.  
  
"What?" he roared, his vampire face on. He expected the small human male tucked into a dark charcoal suit, briefcase at his side, to turn tail and run. But the man surprised him.  
  
"May I come in?" he said.  
  
"You may not," Angel snapped. "Stop knocking and get the hell off my property."  
  
"Ahhh, this property belongs to a Mr. and Mrs. Danby," the man stated, each word calculated and precise. Angel swung the door shut, but the man stuck his shiny black leather shoe in between the wall and the door. His mouth turned down in a slight wince, but he showed no other sign of having his foot smashed by the door that still vibrated with the force of the attempted closing.  
  
"What_do_you_want?" Angel said, his fangs gritted.   
  
"The mayor wants you to come in for an appointment," the man said pleasantly.  
  
"I don't care," Angel answered.  
  
"I have six and a half minutes left to bring you back with me," the man said.   
  
"Or what?" Angel taunted. "You'll beat me up."  
  
"Obviously not," the man answered. "But the mayor does have a wrecking ball on standby, and this house will be reduced to rubble if we're not back in his office in six minutes and," he checked his watch, "fifteen seconds. Hard to keep the sun out with no walls or roof, isn't it?" Angel hesitated in the doorway, his hand clenched around the doorknob.   
  
"It's daylight," he said, pointing out the obvious. The man stepped away from the door slightly, and Angel saw the car parked next to the porch, its windows tinted black. "Fine," he spat. He spared a look at Willow, regretting that he would miss the moment of her waking.   
  
"No one touches her," he said to the other vampires, his voice dangerously soft. "She's mine, and you don't want to find out the consequences of taking what's mine."  
  
The other vampires barely looked up from the TV, but he knew none of them were crazy enough to risk his anger. They were stupid, but not that stupid.  
  
*   
  
Buffy slammed the vampire she'd found against the wall again, smiling at the satisfying crack of his skull against the side of the cement sewer tunnel. Dazed and barely resisting, he swayed in and out of consciousness as she sunk first her right fist, then her left, then her right again into the soft flesh of his stomach. She slammed the heel of her hand into his nose. She crushed his knee with her boot. She pounded his body with her fists, faster and faster until her knuckles split and bled, smearing crimson over his clothes and the dark stains of his own oozing, torn flesh.   
  
He sagged, unconscious now, but she caught him by the throat. She propped him against the wall with one hand, and continued to punch him with the other, the wet sounds of her fist sinking into his flesh echoing in the emptiness of the sewer.   
  
Her beeper chirped shrilly. Her fist continued to move against him, her teeth were bared and she wished he'd do more than just squelch and crack and give under her assault. The beeper chirped again, and she dropped the body to the ground. She checked the number, making sure it was Giles, then she pulled out her stake and drove it easily into the vampire's heart. She headed for the nearest ladder to the street, some kind of catharsis found in the violence taking the cutting edge from the still seething fury that filled her.   
  



	14. Three Doors: Part Fourteen

_Yes it's true that I believe  
I'm weaker than I used to be  
I wear my heart out on my sleeve  
and I forget the rest of me  
  
Yes there's times I've been afraid  
and there's no harm in that I pray  
cuz I'm more frightened everyday  
someone will take the hope I have away   
  
stop  
-matchbox 20_  
  


**Three Doors**   
**Part Fourteen**

Angel sat in Giles' living room and watched Oz pace in front of him. The younger man's steps traced the same impatient pattern on the floor over and over, wearing a memory of dread into the tiles. Angel's own creeping fear only exhausted him, leaving his sore body drained and hopeless. Giles brought out a tray of full tea cups and set it on the table. No one took a cup. Giles hadn't expected them to, but making tea was a way to keep busy.   
  
They looked up as Buffy entered the room, her knuckles red with blood, a nasty, feverish, near mad gleam in her eyes. She walked over to Giles and rocked on her heels, her hands clenched.  
  
"So?" she said. Angel eased off the couch and joined them, standing behind Buffy, just far enough from her not to touch. Oz stood by Giles, unable to focus his eyes on anything immediate, his mind elsewhere. Xander stood in the doorway to the kitchen, shredding a piece of leftover pizza onto a paper plate.  
  
"I have a very good lead," Giles answered. "Two Frackren demons were hired yesterday, the rumor is, by Angel. My source wasn't sure, but did say with some certainty that it was a vampire who hired them."  
  
"Do we know where Angel is?" Buffy asked.  
  
"No," Giles said, frowning. "But we do know where the demons are nesting." He handed her a small piece of folded paper. She opened it to read the address. "And they may know where Angel is."   
  
"The clock is ticking," Buffy said, her teeth clicking in frustration. "I've already wasted time coming back here." Oz's gaze turned momentarily sharp, and she took a deliberate breath. "Thank you, Giles." She said, once she'd clutched a tenuous calm. "Anything else?"  
  
Giles nodded, "The easiest way to kill these particular demons is beheading, if possible. Their arms and legs grow back if severed."  
  
She shook the weapons bag. "Ax enclosed," she said grimly. "I'll go right away." She headed for the door. Angel got there first and held it closed with one hand.  
  
"I'm coming with you this time," he said.  
  
"Don't challenge me," she warned, pulling the door open despite his leaning with all his weight against it. "This is not about you," she said. "It's about Willow, and I can't waste any more time." Angel grabbed the crossbow propped behind the door and hurried out after her.  
  
"What are you doing?" she asked, not stopping.  
  
"I'm coming with you," he said.  
  
"Damn it," she swore. "Why can't you just--"  
  
"Be a good dog, and obey?" Angel finished.  
  
"Stay inside where it's safer," Buffy said.  
  
"If you'd stayed five seconds until Giles was done, you'd know what these demons don't speak English," Angel said. "I know some Frackren, so unless you want to wander around until you find another translator..." He trailed off.   
  
"Fine," she said. "But you'll stay out of the fighting."  
  
"Giles said there were two," Angel said. "I can kill one with the crossbow."  
  
"I need them alive."  
  
"I can incapacitate it then."  
  
"You mean enrage it."  
  
"There are two of us, and two of them, aren't those better odds than fighting them both alone?" Angel asked.  
  
"No hand to hand," Buffy said. "Crossbow only."  
  
"Hand to hand only if necessary," Angel said.  
  
"What is this? A negotiation?" Buffy asked.  
  
"Apparently," Angel answered.  
  
"Well, remind me not to get involved in the next hostage crisis." Buffy smiled grimly. "Just follow my lead. Nonnegotiable."  
  
Angel shouldered the crossbow, and hurried along beside the Slayer. He wished for some way to reach her, to force her to see him as more than another body to protect, to drag her back a little from the violence that was seeping out of her with the blood on her knuckles. He didn't raise the issue. She wasn't willing to open up to him, to let him in, to lean on him. And he wasn't ready to push her.  
  
*  
  
Angelus looked around curiously as he was shown into the Mayor's office. The Mayor sat at his desk, his head bowed over some sort of paperwork. He looked up as Angel entered, his expression bland, pleasant. He stood and motioned toward the seat across from him. Angel sat uneasily, not quite meeting the Mayor's eyes. There was something wrong, something a little bit off in those eyes.  
  
He deliberately leaned back in his chair and propped his feet up on the Mayor's desk, exuding arrogance. The Mayor leaned against his desk and looked pointedly at the feet.  
  
"I just don't understand you young people," the Mayor said. "Didn't anyone bother to teach you any manners?" Angel dropped his feet from the desk to the floor with a heavy thump. He folded his hands over his abdomen, and waited. "You're probably wondering why I asked you here," the Mayor said with a smile. Angel inclined his head.   
  
"No point in beating around the bush," the Mayor said. "I'd like you to work for me, be my right hand man. My go-to guy."  
  
"Not interested," Angel said, keeping his tone carefully bored.  
  
"I'm not phrasing it as a request," the Mayor said, his voice lowering to a mild threat.  
  
"I don't work for anyone," Angel said.  
  
"You've been working for the Slayer," the Mayor said.  
  
"I never worked for her. I never worked for anyone," Angel said, anger creeping into the bland tone he'd tried to maintain.  
  
"Regardless," the mayor said. "You don't have a choice in the matter. So be a good boy, and do as I say." He motioned to a plate at the edge of the desk. "Have a cookie."  
  
"Are you really stupid enough to think you can force me to be your slave?" Angel asked.  
  
"Name-calling never got anyone anywhere," the Mayor said. "And I think you would rather work for me than die, yes."  
  
"You think you can kill me?"  
  
"I know I can," the Mayor said. "But right now I need you."   
  
Angel swooped out of his chair, grabbed an expensive looking burgundy pen off the Mayor's desk, and stabbed it deep into the man's eye with all the strength he had. "Ouch," the Mayor said indignantly. "Now what did you go do that for?" Angel watched in morbid fascination as the Mayor reached up for the pen and tried to get a grip on the end, slippery with a gush of ocular fluid. Finally his fingers gained purchase, and he drew the pen out, grimacing in Angel's direction. The shrunken, punctured, weeping cavity of his eye socket, closed and swelled, reconstructing an intact, untouched eyeball. Angel sat back down in his chair.  
  
"I'm what we like to call invulnerable," the Mayor said, as if nothing unusual had happened.   
  
"Interesting," Angel said, as if he'd never moved from his seat.  
  
"I thought you'd be intrigued," the Mayor agreed with a nod. He tossed Angel the sticky pen. "Though I wasn't expecting you to go for the eye. Quick thinking; that's why I want you on my team."  
  
"What exactly do you want me to do?" Angel asked.  
  
"Kill the people I tell you to kill, protect me, make sure the Ascension goes smoothly."  
  
"Doesn't look like you need me to protect you," Angel said. He twirled the pen between his forefinger and thumb. "What's the Ascension?"  
  
"All in good time, my boy," the Mayor said.  
  
"If I do this," Angel started speculatively. "I can do what I want on my own time."  
  
The Mayor laughed. "I don't care what you do, as long as the Ascension stays on track for Graduation."  
  
"Why me?" Angel asked.  
  
"Faith got this job by killing the person who held it before her."  
  
"She meant nothing to you?" The Mayor remained in his seat, his body lounging in a relaxed posture, but his eyes narrowed the tiniest bit, and his mouth hardened.  
  
"Just like you," he said calmly. "You're a tool to be used."  
  
"And when you're done with me?"  
  
"You're free to go," the Mayor said with a smile. Angel smiled back, recognizing the lie, hating the idea of serving this man, but unable to free himself. Knowing he couldn't kill this man almost scared him. It put the mayor out of his reach, his control, his power. At least for now. "Are you sure you wouldn't like a cookie?" the Mayor asked, and Angel pulled one off the plate, biting into the crunchy circle and thinking, searching for a way out. There was still time, and much as it galled him, running the Mayor's errands shouldn't interfere too much with his own plans. He wouldn't let it.  
  
*   
  
Buffy kicked the door of the mausoleum in. The two demons in the corner of the crypt looked up from the pile of bones they had been chewing With a growl, the larger demon charged her, while the smaller hurled a skull at her head. She ducked the missile, and straightened up in time to sink her fist in the demon's gut. Angel slid past the doorway, careful not to get in her way, and aimed the crossbow at the smaller demon. Buffy blocked a punch from the larger, but he gained a grip on her arm and swung her off balance. She stumbled into Angel's line of vision, and he hesitated, looking up from the crossbow. She regained her balance and kicked the demon in the middle of its face.   
  
A leg bone clattered against the crossbow, and Angel staggered with the impact. Concentrating again, he loosed the first bolt, and it sank into the smaller demon's neck. With a roar, the demon grabbed the wooden shaft and pulled it out. He snapped the arrow, his breathing ragged, and advanced on Angel with the broken fragment in his hand. Angel shot again, and the bolt flew wide, missing the demon by a few inches.  
  
Buffy kicked the bigger demon, and he reeled against a stone tomb. She noticed the demon advancing on Angel and jumped on top of the tomb. With a sweeping upward kick, she pounded her foot into the big demon's head, sending him sprawling to the floor. She hurled herself off the tomb, executing a tight flip that ended with her feet planted on the smaller demon's back. It was driven to the ground by her weight and momentum just as it reached Angel. The splintered crossbow bolt fell from its grasp and rolled across the ground as Buffy smashed it in the head with the heel of her hand. The demon shook its head groggily, and she grabbed it by the ears, knocking its skull against the ground with a loud crack. Then she slammed it down again, and again, and again, the sharp sound turning soft as dark blackish blood began to spread beneath the demon's head. Hands pulled at her, and she turned with her fists raised. She dropped them quickly when she saw Angel crouching behind her.   
  
"I thought you wanted them alive," he said. She took a deep breath, and forced the haze that had lowered over her vision to retreat.  
  
"They are," she answered. He handed her a length of rope from her bag, and she quickly hog-tied the demon, lashing its hands and feet together with cutting tightness. She turned to the other demon and saw it was waking up. She motioned for Angel to bring her bag and approached the demon. She swung one leg over its body and squatted, crouching over it.   
  
"Ax," she said, and held her hand out, palm up. Angel slapped the ax handle into her hand. The demon started to move, to throw her off its body, and she bared her teeth. It stopped moving. "Ask it where Angel is?" she said. Angel said something she couldn't understand, the guttural sounds vibrating deep in his throat. The demon said nothing. Buffy stood up, and put her foot on the demon's chest. She looked down at the body as if measuring it, calculating angles and distances. She brought the ax up, then fell to a crouch while swinging the ax down with stunning force. It sank into the demon's shoulder, sheering past the resistance of scales and muscles. It scraped against the bone and then bit into the floor with a metallic clank. The demon screamed, harsh voice turned piteous with anguish, and threw her away with the wild flailing of its remaining arm. Gouts of blood gushed from the severed arteries, spraying outward in a wide radius of spatters. Angel stood frozen while it ran for the door. The blood dripped down the walls, off the sides of the tomb, off the faces of grey statues, and the sight of it left him hollow. Where was the exhilaration? The adrenaline? He'd tortured hundreds if not thousands of people, demons, things, and it had never felt this empty.   
  
Buffy pursued, catching the demon before it reached the sunlight outside the crypt's exit. She tripped it up and put her boot on the back of its neck, exerting pressure. Angel winced as the demon's face contorted with pain.   
  
"Tell it not to move," she said. "Or the head comes off." Angel tried to speak, but the words seemed caught in his throat. The pain was too thick in the air, and he was choking on it. He swallowed hard, and this time the sounds were audible. The demon stilled. "Rope," she said. Angel stared transfixed at the bloody stump where the demon's arm had been. He could see the bone. It was white underneath the blood, and the ends were smooth where the ax had sliced through. He had severed limbs before, just like she had, one easy motion and he had laughed at the screams. His chest heart, his ribs too tight around his heart. "Rope," Buffy said again. Angel looked at her, his face blank. Then he started, as if just hearing her. He reached into the bag and pulled out another length of rope. He let out the breath he hadn't noticed he held in his lungs, and told himself this was nothing. Nothing he hadn't seen before. He tossed her the rope. But he had never felt this heavy pain behind his eyes, this dry-mouthed horror that crept up his throat. It had never felt like this before. She quickly tied the demon's feet, then pulled it up by its remaining arm into a sitting position.  
  
"Tell it, if it moves its arm, I'll cut it off," Buffy said. She returned her attention to the demon as Angel relayed the message. "Ask it again about Angel." She waited as Angel spoke, then listened to the demon's short, gruff answer.  
  
"Says it doesn't know," Angel said. Buffy shook her head, and lifted her gory ax. Angel saw it coming this time, but it was too late to look away. She paced behind the sitting demon, then with a sudden movement, she sank the ax into its other shoulder, stopping when she reached the resistance of bone. The demon screamed again, its scaly face twisted with agony. Angel turned his back, and looked carefully at the stone floor. A trickle of thick black blood dribbled into his line of sight, and he gagged. Wide-eyed he grabbed his throat, feeling betrayed by his own his body. He swallowed past the bile rising in his throat, trying to ease his gag reflex. He took a deep breath through his mouth, but the stench of blood was so thick even he could taste it with his human tongue. It tasted like pain, and it was bitter, dirty. He gagged again.  
  
"Angel," Buffy said. "Ask it again." He tried to find a safe place to rest his eyes, somewhere not spattered with blood. His eye caught on the motionless arm, lying alone and bodiless in a pool of blood. His knees buckled, and he barely kept his balance. "You can throw up later," Buffy said. "We need the information now."  
  
"I can't-" Angel started weakly. "Have to get fresh air." He stumbled backwards a step, then turned to rush for the door. He just needed a second, a moment to clear his head. Buffy stepped in front of him, blocking his way.  
  
"Ask it," she said. Angel squeezed his eyes shut and spat out a few words in Frackren, pressure growing behind his eyelids, weighing against his brain until he wanted to scream. The demon muttered something in return.  
  
"Still says it doesn't know," he said through clenched teeth. Buffy looked up at Angel, his eyes still closed, his face pale beneath his slight sunburn. He shuddered.  
  
"Go outside," she said. He didn't argue, only opening his eyes long enough to aim for the door. He stumbled a few feet away from the crypt before his knees buckled. He retched and heaved against the ground, his body reacting violently against the torture, protesting the trapped, helpless pain of the victim, of all his victims. The demon screamed again, and he winced. He sucked in deep breaths of air, air that smelled of dirt and crushed grass stems and only very faintly of blood. He took another breath, and rose to his feet, slightly more steady.   
  
He stood in the doorway of the crypt, sunlight warming his back, and pointedly did not look at the second severed arm. He asked the demon again for information and relayed the non-answer to Buffy.  
  
"Tell it if Willow dies, I'll keep it chained up where no one will ever find it," she said. "And I'll wait for its arms and legs to grow back, and I'll keep cutting them off and letting them grow until it dies of old age." Angel shivered and repeated the words in the guttural demon language. The demon paused, and tilted its head. Its beady eyes met Buffy's cold stare, the almost eager spark in her eyes that said yes I'm capable of doing this, and it stammered an answer after a long hesitation.  
  
"It says he's in a house," Angel translated. "It's the white house with the blue door three blocks east of the stone Church. I think he means the Presbyterian one on Pine Tree."  
  
"This better not be a lie," Buffy said. Angel looked at the demon, the blood flow from its empty shoulders now a slow, but constant stream, its eyes on the floor.  
  
"I think it's more scared of you right now than Angelus or anyone else," Angel said.  
  
"Good," she said. "We'll leave them both here, just in case." She looked at Angel. "Tell it I keep my promises." Angel nodded dully, and translated the statement. "Now go back to the apartment," she said.  
  
"What?" he said. She tightened her grip on the dripping ax, and picked up her weapons bag with her other hand. "What are you talking about?" he said. She brushed past him, walking with hurried steps into the sun. He sped after her, playing catch-up again. "I'm coming with you," he insisted.  
  
She spoke without turning around, heading in the direction of the Church at something close to a run, her voice hard and unemotional. "This isn't about you; it's about Willow. She matters more than your pride."   
  
"It's not about pride," Angel snapped. She half turned her head at the anger in his voice. "You're going to run into a nest, by yourself." She ignored him. "He won't be the only vampire there," he said. "How will you getting killed help Willow?"  
  
"How will you getting killed help me?" she snapped back.   
  
"You need back-up," Angel insisted. He caught up and grabbed her arm, trying to turn her toward him. She pulled against his grip, and stopped for a brief moment, meeting his eyes with her own.  
  
"Maybe I do," she said. "But you can't give it to me." Angel dropped her arm, stung. She stood frozen a moment, then turned away to continue her rushed pace. He watched her, his eyes wide, his hands twitching nervously at his sides. His mouth hardened, and he pushed himself to a run. He pulled even with her, and adjusted his stride to hers.  
  
"That was unfair," he said.  
  
"Was it?" she asked coolly.   
  
"Yes," he said. "Just because I'm human now doesn't mean I'm useless to--"  
  
"I didn't say you were useless," she said. "I said you can't offer me reliable back up when I go into that nest."  
  
"Same difference," Angel said bitterly. His chest was beginning to heave with the exertion of talking and maintaining her pace. She turned her head, meeting his eyes again, and he flinched.  
  
"What happened back there?" she asked. He only looked at her. "You're tortured people before," she said.  
  
"This was different," Angel said. "I felt," he stopped. "It always felt good," he said bluntly. "Before. And now that I'm human, all I could see was pain."  
  
"I needed you. Willow needed you. That information was crucial, and you had to take a break," Buffy said. "You let me, us, down."  
  
"I know that," Angel snapped. "Do you think I did it on purpose? That I wasn't trying to deal with it? It hit me...the smell...and I couldn't... I've only been human for a couple days, okay? I'm doing my best."  
  
"I understand that," Buffy said. "But that back there is who I am. That is what my life is about, and you couldn't handle it."  
  
"That isn't all your life is about," Angel argued.  
  
"You can't separate me from that," Buffy said. "That is who I am."  
  
"I just need to get used to--" Angel started.  
  
"Fine," Buffy interrupted. "And you're right, you need time to adjust. I'm not blaming you for that. But this is *now.* Willow needs me now. I can't wait."  
  
"How can you even compare?" Angel said. "I'm talking about backing you up in a fight, not watching you cut something's arms off for the purpose of creating as much pain as possible." Buffy blinked against the stab of hurt that sped the beating of her heart.  
  
"I did what I had to," she said.  
  
"I know," Angel said, hating himself for the guilt he'd saw in her eyes. "But this fight is different."  
  
"You can't help," Buffy said with heavy finality.  
  
"You're wrong," Angel said, gripping her arm again. He spoke through gasps for breath. "I'm not useless. I'm not as strong as I was, but that doesn't mean you can dismiss me."  
  
"It's not about you," Buffy said again. She pulled at her arm, her own breath coming hard from her lungs.  
  
"It is," Angel said. "It's about us. It's not the same between us as it was. You don't trust me anymore. You don't respect me. You don't treat me like I'm you're equal."  
  
"You're not my equal," Buffy said, her voice more crushing because it lacked anger or blame. It was stripped of everything but the truth, and that was more than enough to widen both their eyes. Buffy looked up into Angel's face, and wanted to cry. She bit her lower lip, and firmed her jaw. Angel released her, his eyes dark with loss. She ran now, sprinting, her feet moving with blurring speed as she pulled away from him, leaving him behind.  
  
He dragged a bewildered hand through his hair, and stared at the concrete, then at her rapidly receding back. He pulled the hand from his hair and looked at it. The sun's brilliant light surrounded his fingers, fingers that shook with tremors. He closed his hand, curling the fingers in to form a fist. The fist did not waver or shake. He began to walk in the direction of the church, then to run.  
  
*  
  
Angelus ran his hand through Willow's hair, nuzzling at her ear with his lips. She winced away from the touch, and his hand tightened on her arm, fingers biting into the soft flesh. She clenched her jaw, trying not to whimper.  
  
"It's okay to cry," he whispered into her ear. "No one will think any less of you." She looked away, her green eyes clouded with unshed tears that clung damp to her eyelashes. He blew gently against her neck. "You'll feel better," he urged, still whispering. "If you just let it out."  
  
He ran his fingertips over the puckered edges of the stab wound on her shoulder. He lowered his mouth to the blood that oozed down her arm to her elbow. He ran his tongue over her quaking, goose-pimpled flesh, up her arm. He rested his mouth over the slash on her shoulder and suckled gently at the wound, savoring the gorgeous mouthful of crimson he drew from her like milk.   
  
"Have I ever mentioned, how good fear tastes?" he asked. She stared blankly straight ahead, pretending none of this was happening. Her eyes were dull; she was almost past feeling. She was shutting down. But he could bring her back. He rose to his feet and moved into her line of sight. He stood between her knees and dropped to a crouch, his hands resting on her thighs. "I wonder how Oz's fear would taste?" he said quietly, and noticed the flicker in her eyes. "I'll bet he's dripping with it right now. Sweating fear for your sake." He dug his fingers into her leg until he felt the vessels break, the bruises begin to color. She was looking at him now, nerve endings, emotions, waking and raw. He met her eyes. "What about Xander? What does he taste like? I wouldn't want to feed off him myself," he said with an exaggerated grimace of distaste. "But you..." he trailed off. "He could be your first kill. Imagine how that would feel singing down your throat. Betrayal, love, fear, surprise; which one is more delicious?" Willow was shivering. She blinked and a tear ran down her cheek. He leaned closer, pressing close against her thighs, and wiped the tear away. Slowly, he licked the tear from his finger, and smiled. "There are the tears," he said softly. "Doesn't it feel better?"  
  
He looked up as one of the other vampires brought him a pair of tongs and a potholder with a small metal cross resting on top of it. The vampire left both items on the floor and backed away. Some of the others were sneaking glances at their leader and his victim, but most were careful to avert their eyes if he looked at them. He picked up the cross with the tongs and showed Willow the smoking metal.  
  
"I had them heat it in the stove," he said. He felt the fear run through her like adrenaline. "I've always thought burns are the most painful wounds." He heard her heart speed up, thudding hard and heavy in her chest. She shook her head the tiniest bit, unconsciously pleading, begging, not realizing she did so. "Now are you going to tell me how the human Angel got here?" Willow stared transfixed at the cross.  
  
"We don't know," she whispered. He smiled at the first words she'd said since he'd captured her. His lips slowly stretched into a self-satisfied grin.   
  
"You and Giles and all your books and brains and you don't know?" he said with a chuckle. "I find that hard to believe." He brought the cross closer.  
  
"We don't," Willow said. "There may be a demon involved. Really powerful."  
  
"Specifics," Angel snapped.  
  
"We don't know," Willow said, cringing as he brought the cross close enough to her face that she could feel the heat. "We don't," she said in an almost squeal. Angel tilted his head, and nodded.  
  
"Fine," he said, seeing her muscles relax a fraction. His mouth hardened and without warning he pressed the metal to her chest and held it against her smoking skin, charring skin, as she tried to struggle, then screamed, the sound high-pitched and filled with shocked pain. He dropped the tongs to the floor, revealing an angry red and black cross shaped burn in the middle of her chest. He touched her cheek, smearing the tears spilling from her eyes with his forefinger. "Beautiful," he said. He touched the burn, pressing against the seared flesh, and Willow whimpered. He leaned closer.   
  
The door swung open with a bang, cracking against the wall. A vampire near the door scrambled out of the sunlight. Angelus looked into the light in surprise, at the small silhouette outlined against the glare. Then a smirk lifted his lips as Buffy entered the room, stake in one hand, ax in the other.   



	15. Three Doors: Part Fifteen

_I say no earthly will may stop me  
I say no earthly will may try  
No earthly will may halt the spill of blood from wounds  
and tears from grieving eyes  
  
Malediction  
-The Waterboys_  
  


**Three Doors**   
**Part Fifteen**

Angel reached the church and looked in the direction of the house with the blue door just a few blocks away. His muscles tensed, but he fought the tight, pressing urge to follow, and ran inside the church. He grabbed the pastor who was talking to a congregate in the sanctuary. The pastor turned a startled face to him, and the person he'd pushed aside latched on to his shoulder, pulling him back.  
  
"Phone?" he panted. "Emergency." The pastor studied him doubtfully then nodded his head. He led him to his office and pointed to the phone on the desk. "Thank you," Angel said, and quickly dialed, his heart pounding in his throat. The first ring seemed to jangle for an eternity, but the second ring cut off as the phone was picked up.  
  
"Giles," he said. "It's me."  
  
*   
  
Buffy was moving. Always moving. Her foot slammed into a vampire's neck, and her ax whirled in a circle, sending a head briefly flying before it became a spray of dust. Her stake plunged into a chest, then out again before it could crumble with the vampire's body. She did not feel pain. Fists pounded her ribs, growls rumbled around her, kicks hit her and missed her. None of it reached past the shallow surface of her skin. Inside she was cold and untouched. She continued to move. Another fist, another chest, another fall of dust. Another gasp of air, another burst of impact, another drop of blood. Another shower of dust. She was surrounded, but nothing touched her. One by one they would fall. One by one she would take the blows that bounced off her flesh. Until she reached the last one. Him. And then it would end.  
  
She heard Angelus bellow something, and found herself surrounded by nothing. The other vampires dropped away from her, leaving her exposed and alone. Fine. She spun against the emptiness, and kept a firm grip on her stake, still moving, this time toward Angelus without resistance. He waited for her with a smirk, his hand buried in Willow's hair. He kept his eyes on Buffy, but his hand moved from the top of Willow's head to the back of her neck. She shook her head against his touch, and he tightened his grip. Buffy hesitated.  
  
"One twist," Angel said. Buffy stopped. The ax in her hand drooped.  
  
"Just kill him," Willow spat, the words tinged with blood. She broke off when Angel's hand dug into her throat hard enough to make her gag.  
  
"Let her go," Buffy said.  
  
"You're not in a position to bargain," Angel pointed out.  
  
"It's not her you want," Buffy said. Angel flicked his tongue against his teeth and bit his lower lip. He raked her body with his eyes, and her face heated despite everything. He chuckled, and she frowned, lifting the ax again.  
  
"Why can't I have both?" he asked. Buffy hurled the ax at his head, but he anticipated her and moved to the side, catching the ax handle as it flew past him. "Thanks," he said with a grin, but dodging the ax had separated him from his hostage. Buffy launched herself at him, no other goal in mind but to keep him away from Willow. The ax clattered from his hand. They rolled across the floor, end over end, and scrabbled against each other. Hands clutching and grabbing for purchase, bodies squirming to gain an advantage.   
  
Buffy snagged a handful of hair, and wrenched it as he clutched her shirt and his fingers dug into her back. She planted her knees on the ground and started to pull him up with her by the hair, but he used his grip on her back, to force her down on top of him. The breath whooshed out of her lungs as she slipped and fell against him. She slammed his head against the ground, but unfazed, he curled a leg between their bodies, flung her off and rolled backward. He raised himself to a crouch, and she flipped to her feet.   
  
She circled cautiously, moving her stake from her left hand to her right.  
  
Angel reached the door, which still gaped open, and poked his head carefully inside. The other vampires were distracted, standing just outside the radius of the fighting vampire and Slayer, one or two of them lounging by the TV as if unconcerned. There were only about five or six of them left. He debated whether he should wait for Giles and the others to get here. Willow sat tied to her chair, blood dribbling from her hair line down the side of her face. She rolled her eyes and craned her neck, trying to see what was happening just behind her. Buffy landed a kick to Angelus' chest and he stumbled backwards, banging into Willow's chair. With a curse, he grabbed the chair and swung it, with Willow in it, bodily in front of him. Buffy hesitated again. Angel lifted his crossbow, and took careful aim at Angelus' back with the final bolt. He pressed the trigger, but Angelus shifted and the arrow sunk into his chest just left of his heart.   
  
He grunted in pain, clutched the wooden shaft and whirled to see Angel in the door. He cocked his head as he drew the bolt from his chest, Willow forgotten, and studied the human version of himself, now reaching for a stake. He saw Buffy move toward him out of the corner of his eye and deflected her punch with his hand. The other vampires looked from their leader to the other Angel in confusion.  
  
"Kill him," Angelus said. And they closed in around Angel. He firmed his grip on his stake, and steadied his fighting stance.   
  
"Too afraid to face yourself?" Buffy sneered.  
  
"Unlike you," Angelus answered, "I don't go soft for a pretty face. I know who I am, and he's not me."   
  
She faked a move to the left, then darted to the right, attempting to drive past Angelus to the circle of vampires closing in on Angel. Angelus wrapped his arms around her waist as she passed, yanking her backwards. She stumbled and twisted, setting them both off balance. They knocked into Willow's chair as they fell, and it teetered on two legs before clattering onto its side. Buffy cried out as Willow's head cracked against the floor, and then she was landing on her back, her fall cushioned by the familiar length of Angelus' body. His hands continued to clutch at her abdomen and hips, possessive and bruisingly tight. She dug her elbow into his stomach when they hit the ground, but he did not let go.   
  
She struggled against his grip, and broke free when she saw Angel disappear under the gang of vampires that surrounded him. She pulled herself to her feet, and took two running steps toward him before she felt teeth sink into the meat of her shoulder. Her mouth opened with the tearing pain, and she kicked backward, detaching Angelus from her body. She could hear him behind her, and knew she wouldn't be able to help Angel until she put him out of commission. And Angel wouldn't last that long under the four vampires he was flailing against. She whirled and attacked Angelus with precise determination, her blows powered by barely controlled panic.   
  
"Forget him," Angelus said. "It's already too late."  
  
One of the vampires surrounding Angel suddenly disappeared in a puff of dust, and Giles entered the room, crossbow in hand. Xander followed with an ax, and Oz rushed to Willow's side, sword in hand. A quick slash freed her hands from the chair, and another split the rope that bound her feet. Her freed arms fell motionless against the tiles, and Oz's throat tightened. He put a finger to her pulse and let out a shaky breath when he heard the soft but steady beat of her heart. He carefully pulled her away from the tangle of chair and rope, and lay her body on its back, his shaky hand moving through her knotted, blood matted hair.  
  
Xander winced as one of the vampires landed a punch to his jaw, then he retaliated with a fist to the vampire's gut. Giles was attempting to get a female vampire off his back, and Angel lay curled on the blood smeared floor. The third remaining vampire advanced on Oz and the still unconscious Willow.  
  
"Oz!" Xander yelled. Oz looked up, eyes bright with tears, a snarl twisting his lips, and clutched the sword in his hand. Buffy flew across the room and crashed against the floor, sliding several feet. She skidded to a stop near Angel, and spared him a fearful look, before regaining her footing. Angelus advanced on her but she ducked under his attack. Angel stirred, opening his eyes and noticing Buffy locked tight against Angelus. He moved, uncurling himself painfully slowly, and rose to his feet. He launched himself at Angelus, attempting to break his hold on Buffy. But when his hand grabbed Angelus' arm, the ground began to shake. The three of them, still hooked together by punishing touch and breathless squeezing grasps exchanged a look of surprise as the ground beneath them split and crumbled away. The humans and vampires left behind watched in amazement as the trio plummeted into the sudden hole in the ground and disappeared from sight.  
  
None of them released what their clinging hands grasped as they fell for what seemed an eternity. Angel's fingers sank in a handful of Angelus' arm, and tugged at the shirt on Buffy's back. Angelus pulled Buffy against his body, his hands locked on his own arms to create a vise around her waist. Buffy fell with one hand digging into Angelus' hand where she had tried to loosen his grip, and one reaching between Angelus and Angel to pull on a handful of Angel's bloodstained shirt. The looked at each other as they fell, rock walls whipping past them. Each of them knew death, had died, and each of them knew where this would end. Murder turned to shared fear as they continued downward, wanting the fall to end, and not wanting to ever hit the ground.  
  
And then the fall stopped and they broke apart, each slamming backwards to the hard earth.  
  



	16. Three Doors: Part Sixteen

Three Doors

_Here in the valley of indecision  
I don't know what to do  
I feel you slipping away  
I feel you slipping away  
I'm losing you  
  
I'm Losing You  
-John Lennon  
_   


**Three Doors**   
**Part Sixteen**

Small shards of rock pressed into the side of Buffy's face and the palms of her hands. Pain began to invade through the haze of the fall and the shock of the landing. She blinked against the grit in her eyes, and wondered why death hurt so much this time. She tried to shift her head, and her cheek scraped rock. With a groan, she sat up. Her head pounded hard between her eyes, and she felt like her brain was being squeezed through a juicer. She winced and brushed imbedded pebbles from her face. Her shoulder burned. She touched Angelus' bite, her fingers coming away bloody.  
  
The lights were bright. Too bright. She looked up, trying to find the sun, but it was too far away. Its light didn't reach this far below the surface. She looked for torches, or glowing algae, or something, but there wasn't any. Both Angels lay sprawled on the ground. She crawled to the human Angel, recognizing him because he wore Giles' sweatpants. She poked at his arm, then shook him slightly. His arm was stiff. She touched her fingertips to his neck and waited for the pulse to pound against his skin. It didn't. She waited a moment longer. She sat back on her heels, her eyes blank and uncomprehending. She swallowed, and blinked, her eyelids dropping slowly, rough against her dry eyes. Then her hand clutched at her crumpling mouth, and her eyes widened with tears.  
  
**He is not dead,** a voice said. **Not yet.** Buffy clapped her hands uselessly to her ears, unable to stop the familiar melodious voice that echoed against the inside of her skull until her teeth clattered. She darted her head from side to side, as if the Dagnu were there in the small tunnel of rock they were trapped at the bottom of. As if she'd somehow missed its ten foot tall form. There was no one.   
  
"But, he doesn't have a pulse," she said to the empty air, her chest tight with fear and painful hope.  
  
**I have suspended them both,** the Dagnu said. **They are frozen.** Buffy clutched at her head again, pressing tight, trying to hold her brain in place and keep her skull from splitting.  
  
"Why?" she said through gritted teeth.  
  
**Because you are the one who has to make the choice.**  
  
Buffy stared at the two identically motionless bodies in front of her. She touched her fingertip to Angel's stiff hand, then gripped the appendage in tightly closed fingers.   
  
"What are you talking about?" she asked. Angel's eyes were closed; a half-formed bruise spread from his temple, red and deep purple feelers of color. "We already went through this."  
  
**That was the beginning,** the Dagnu thundered. **This is the end.** Buffy lifted her lip in a sneer.  
  
"Great, that really convinces me of your wisdom," she said. "You don't have to be cryptic just to impress me." She wrapped her other hand around her grip on Angel's hand, squeezing courage from the unresponsive skin.   
  
**I am unconcerned with what you think of me,** the Dagnu said. **My only concern is that you make the choice.**  
  
"Why should I?" Buffy said angrily, the pain in her head a dull throb now, fading under the heat of her rage. "I did what you said the last time and look where I am."  
  
**That was not a true choice,** the Dagnu said. **It was a device to set the game in motion. It was necessary to bring you to this point with a full understanding of the choice you must make here. This time you will determine the outcome.**  
  
"It's not a game to us," Buffy muttered. "Wait. Does that mean that none of the past two days really happened?" Her knuckles whitened as her grip tightened reflexively.  
  
**It was all real.**  
  
"Then Faith, Willow..." Buffy started.  
  
**Nothing can undo what has been done.**  
  
"You can't just go around pulling us in and out of our lives," Buffy said, choking slightly on disappointment.   
  
**I can,** the Dagnu said, unperturbed.   
  
"Well, you can't make me play your game," Buffy countered. "What if I say I won't choose anything? Not that you've even told me what this stupid choice is in the first place."  
  
**You must choose,** the Dagnu said.  
  
"No," Buffy said with an annoyed snort.  
  
**Then they will both die,** the Dagnu said. Buffy gently stroked Angel's forehead. The sweat and blood that grimed his skin were frozen like the rest of him, unmoving under the motion of her hand, as if they were part of his skin.  
  
"I'll choose on one condition," Buffy said. "You promise never to do anything to us again, not me, not anyone I know, not anyone in Sunnydale."  
  
**I make no promises.**  
  
"Then I make no choices."  
  
**I agree to your condition,** the Dagnu said.   
  
"Then let's get this over with," Buffy said. She blinked and when her eyes opened she was in the cave where the first choice had been made, the familiar curves of the three identical wooden doors surrounding her like enemies. And both Angel and Angelus were gone.  
  
"Not fair!" she yelled. "How am I supposed to choose anything? I don't even know the rules!"  
  
**You will know,** the Dagnu said.   
  
The rock walls somehow formed several feet behind the doors. She cocked her head at the unsupported arches of wood, standing in empty space. She walked to one of them and pushed against the door. It resisted the touch as if it were still embedded in a wall of solid stone. She leaned over, poked her head past the door and saw Angel. She approached him cautiously and placed her hand on his chest. His body was as immobile as the doors. And his eyes were still closed. She circled behind him, and moved to the next door. When she reached it, she glanced backward, then furrowed her brow in confusion. Angel again. Or was it?   
  
They were wearing the same clothes. Giles' sweatpants and a t-shirt. She reached up to lightly brush the colors of his bruised temple with her fingers. She studied the marks of bites on his arms, the blood that was frozen mid-trickle from a cut on his eyebrow. She walked back to the other Angel. Same bruise. Same bites. Same blood. How was she supposed to choose anything if they were the same? She ran to the third door, her heart sinking when she saw the identical outfit. But when she reached up to touch his face the bruise was missing. Instead crusted blood dried in a cut on his cheek. She remembered landing a kick to Angelus' check, her boot splitting the flesh.  
  
And she knew. This time she knew exactly what was behind each of the doors, understood the choice. It was Angel. Vampire, human, vampire with a soul. And the door she chose was the Angel that would be returned to her. The other two would be gone forever.  
  
"Let me get this straight," Buffy said to the air, her fingers absently drifting again over the bite on her shoulder. "The two Angels I don't choose will be gone? As in dead? What does that mean? How can one of them live and the other two die when they're the same person?"   
  
**Your Angel has existed in three incarnations,** the Dagnu said. **I have separated those three incarnations and made them flesh. The Angel you choose will never be able to return to either of the other incarnations. In that way, yes, they will die.**  
  
"So then," Buffy said thoughtfully. "If I choose the vampire with a soul Angel, he can't ever turn into Angelus again?" She approached Angel, the vampire with a soul, the Angel she'd first met, first fallen in love with. She touched his face, her fingers pressing against his cheek, his nose, his lips. Her fingernails caught on his lip as her hand dropped to his chin then away from his face.  
  
**He would not be able to lose his soul again,** the Dagnu said. **But the evil would exist inside him for eternity. And I cannot tell whether he would be able to control it as long.** Buffy fit her hand to his, wishing his fingers would curl and wrap around her own. The Dagnu paused. **And in kind, just as he could not return to his soulless incarnation, he would never return to his human condition.**  
  
"Is this some kind of trick?" she said.  
  
**No trick.**  
  
"What do you get out of it though?" she asked.  
  
**My curiosity is fulfilled.**  
  
"Why didn't you just ask then and leave it at that?"  
  
**If the outcome were not real, your answer would mean nothing.**  
  
"Why can't they give the big, endless powers to somebody who actually wants to help me," Buffy muttered. She lifted her gaze from Angel's hand to the human Angel's door. "So you're saying I can pick the human Angel if I want, and he'll permanently be human, and the vampire will be dead forever?"  
  
**Yes.**  
  
"And you're saying I can pick the vampire with a soul Angel and the curse loophole won't matter anymore?"  
  
**Yes.**  
  
"There has to be a trick," Buffy said. "It's too easy."  
  
**The trick is not in the choice,** the Dagnu said. **It is in the choosing.**  
  
"More riddles," Buffy muttered.  
  
**What you choose will be what you are given,** the Dagnu said. **There is no trick in that. But if you believe the choice is an easy one, you have not understood the gambit fully.**  
  
"Wait," Buffy said. She moved to the human Angel, and clutched at the wounds on his arms, the blood on his shirt. "The injuries from the fight. It looks like Angel lost a lot of blood. If I make him human, is it going to turn out he dies five seconds afterwards?"  
  
**I cannot foretell the future,** the Dagnu said.  
  
"How serious are his injuries?" Buffy asked.  
  
**He is hurt, weakened,** the Dagnu said. **But not mortally wounded. This time.** Buffy cautiously touched one of the bite marks, running her fingers over the edges of the torn flesh. She pressed her hand to his heart, but the heartbeat was silent. This is what he'll look like when he dies, she thought. And he will die. Her gaze darted to the vampire with the soul.   
  
"He'll remember everything?" she asked, her voice heavy. "Everything Angelus did while he was separate."  
  
**Everything but what happens now,** the Dagnu said. **None of them are conscious or aware.**  
  
"He'll remember that he was human," Buffy said. "And that I took it from him."  
  
**He will only know it was your choice if you tell him.**  
  
"How can I not?" Buffy asked. "How could I lie to him about that?" The Dagnu was silent. "He'd never forgive me." She looked at the human Angel's face. The same beautiful face she loved. The same muscled body. The normal man, the normal boyfriend she'd always wanted. The normal boyfriend who wouldn't survive her not-normal life. Her lip trembled, and her chest hitched once. Her fingers twisted against his shirt, pulling a handful of it closer. He could share the sunlight with her. He could warm her with his body. He could grow old... He would if he left her. They would never grow old together. But he could have it all if he left.   
  
She bit her lip. If she made him human she would lose him. She already was. There would be another danger she couldn't let him face. Another battle she couldn't trust him to fight. The distance between them, distance already growing, would spread.   
  
And he wasn't the man she loved.  
  
She turned her face to the vampire with a soul, and untangled her hand from the human Angel's shirt. Slowly, she walked to him, her feet scuffing against the rocky ground in a reluctant rhythm. She stood in front of him and wrapped her arms around his body, resting her head against his chest.   
  
She knew what her choice would mean. The vampire, the demon, would be inside him forever. He could never again see the sunlight. The memory of his taste of humanity, his dearest dream, would taunt him. And the others... The trust that was developing between him and Xander. The memory of torturing Willow. Killing Faith. The burden of guilt. All of it would be forced on him by her hand. And she could lose him. Not to death but to hatred, resentment, betrayal.   
  
She rested her cheek against his shirt, and looked at the human Angel. If she made him human she would lose him anyway. They were not the same. And she loved him with the vampire inside him. She believed she could love him as a human, but he would never be Angel again. Not her Angel.  
  
She squeezed her eyes shut.  
  
"I can't do it," she whispered. "You can't ask me to do this."  
  
**The choice must be made,** the Dagnu said. She looked up at Angel's face, studying the angles and curves, the set of his chin, the slope of his nose. She wished his eyes were open, wished she could see them one more time, filled with love so she could remember it when his eyes turned cold. She buried her face in his chest again, her tears soaking into the stained fabric. She shook against him, her hands clutching at the back of his shirt, at the flesh underneath. She tangled her fingers in his hair.  
  
"I've already chosen," she said.   
  
His eyes opened, confused. A drop of blood dripped from his eyebrow and landed on her head, caught in a mesh of blonde hair. His arms wrapped around her, tight and reassuring. His hand stroked her back. "What happened?" he said. And he took a dead breath he no longer needed. Blood surrounded him, the scent rich and textured against his tongue, filling his nose. "The fall. I'm not human anymore." Buffy shook her head silently against him. His hand ran up her back, and she sighed, relaxing into the touch. She lifted her tear-streaked face, and he looked down at her, unanswered questions in his eyes.  
  
She pushed against his head, guiding his lips to hers. She kissed him as if it were the last time, deep and tinged with hard desperation. She tasted him with her teeth and tongue, drawing him closer, and his hands ran rough up the length of her back, tucked underneath her shirt, gliding skin to skin. She pulled back, and he touched the tears that slicked her cheeks.  
  
"What's happened?" he asked.  
  
"I'm sorry," she said. "I'm so sorry."   
  
"I don't understand."  
  
"The Dagnu brought us down here."   
  
"And it reversed what it did before?" Angel asked. She shook her head, and bit her lip to stop it from quivering. He rolled a lock of her hair between his finger and his thumb, his other hand cupping her cheek. "You can tell me," he said.  
  
"I.." She stopped and dug her fingernails into the palm of her hand. "It was my choice."  
  
"What was?"  
  
"The Dagnu offered me three choices, and I chose this."  
  
"To make me a vampire?"  
  
"With a soul," she said. "You can't ever lose it again."  
  
"One of the choices was humanity?" Angel asked, his hand dropping away from her face. She nodded, her eyes filling with tears. "But why-"  
  
"I-" Her voice broke. She turned away. "I'm sorry." The three doors, the other Angels were gone. She stumbled for the tunnel that was the one exit from the cave. Angel watched her for a moment in stunned silence. She disappeared into the shadow of the tunnel. He followed her at a run.  
  



	17. Three Doors: Part Seventeen

Three Doors _  
everything is in rags   
and there's nobody to blame but me   
and it would be so easy   
if there was no one to hurt but me   
but now everything that i do   
coming out of me   
will just tear through you   
in and out of you   
up and down your life   
like a curse   
  
rags  
-the waterboys_   
  
  


**Three Doors**   
**Part Seventeen**

  
Angel ran, familiar strength coursing in his veins like a reclaiming of self. With the exhilaration of remembered power came the deep pang of loss and the loathing of self that defined him. He was a mass of hurt, of wounds, but none of them penetrated with the raw edge of humanity. His head swam with the blood that dripped from his eye. He swiped at it with his hand and licked his fingers. The taste shivered through him, and he flicked his tongue nervously against his teeth. He could hear the panicked rhythm of Buffy's footsteps falling in front of him, and he made out her shape in the dark. Her scent wrapped around him as he drew closer, the smell richer, penetrating deeper than it could in his human body. The air tasted of her blood and his mingling from the fight that seemed so long ago. The world overwhelmed him with a dizzy barrage of heightened senses and new memory.   
  
The fight flashed in his memory from a disorienting double perspective. Vision and emotion conflicting from two places at once. Crawling fear. Burning, consuming hate that mingled unsteadily with feverish lust. His foot connecting with Buffy's abdomen. His hands dragging her with him to the ground. Her body rigid against him. Watching himself hit her while he fell under a gang of vampires, his hands flailing ever weaker against their fists and feet and the sharp tearing of their teeth. He was doubled, separate and inseparable, forgetting where one half ended and the other began.   
  
The memories continued to fall, slipping into already occupied spaces, crowding. Willow. The stench and hissing sizzle of burning flesh. His knees jarred by feet pounding against the pavement as he chased Buffy. Words spoken quietly, lying harmless between them before turning red hot, burning with shame and fear and doubt. "You're not my equal." His mouth on Willow's skin. Blood. Warm. Life on his tongue. A knife sinking into flesh. An ax whirling in a deadly silver circle. An arm lying motionless in a pool of thick darkness.   
  
He ground his teeth against the confusion of images, and reached out when he saw through the haze of memory that Buffy was just a step in front of him. He steadied himself with the touch of her. He grasped her elbow and stopped her forward motion, swinging her back toward him with a jerk of his arm. She whipped violently around, crashing into his chest as her balance and momentum conspired with him against her. He caught her against his body, trapping her with his arms. She struggled weakly for a moment, then stopped, limp and unresisting, pressed tight against him.   
  
"I don't understand," he said through clenched teeth. Buffy stood silent, her head tilted into his chest as if she were too tired to lift it. "I need to know why." The top of her forehead pressed against his dead heart, touching the absence that lay inside him.   
  
"It was selfish," she said dully. "I-" She looked up, and her red-rimmed eyes were dry.   
  
"Why?" he said. She shook her head. "I never thought I would have the chance to be human, and now..." He gritted his teeth against a flash of dark red pen and a gush of clear fluid from a broken eye.   
  
"I'm sorry," she said, her nostrils flaring as tiny breaths jerked through her lungs. "I'm sorry I took it from you. I don't expect you to forgive me. I know I don't deserve it. If you want to leave I'll understand." Her eyes begged him to stay. To see the need that clutched at her, the loneliness and the regretful joy she found in killing, the isolation she didn't have to pretend not to feel when she was with him. She asked him to see the selfish fear and to forgive her for it. His eyes met hers in the dark, but he saw nothing through the jerky exhilaration of pressing Willy's throat to the wall.   
  
"The memories," he choked. "I remember what he did. What I did. Was. Am."   
  
"I know," she said. "The Dagnu told me you would." He closed his eyes.   
  
"You wanted me to be human just as much as I did." His voice was tight with confusion. "To give you all the things you dreamed of, all the things you should have."   
  
"A normal life," she whispered.   
  
"Yes," he said. "Sunlight. Normal dates. Children." He grabbed her arms, squeezing tight. She met his eyes, the need hidden now behind her guilt. "Now I can't give you any of that," he said. He shook as a terrible possibility flooded him. "You want to have it with someone else?" he asked, and his chest ached as if he held his breath, though his lungs needed no air. She didn't want him. She didn't want to make a life with him. He tightened his hold on her arms to keep from falling. "Do you want me to leave?" She shook her head, her mouth crumpling as her chest heaved with unvoiced sobs.   
  
"It doesn't matter," she said, desperate. His fingers were points of pain digging into her arms, but she did not struggle to free herself.   
  
"No," he said. "It does matter. Tell me. Explain-"   
  
"None of that matters," she said, feeling like they were looking past each other, their words twisting from their mouths and falling with different meanings against uncomprehending ears. "The normal life. It's not true. It's not possible. I'm the Slayer. Normal doesn't come with the package. I see that now."   
  
"But it could," Angel started. "If I were human I could have-"   
  
"Died," Buffy said bluntly.   
  
"You don't know."   
  
"Angel, even if you were normal, I never would be." His eyes slid away from hers, dark and unreadable. "And in my world, normal is dead."   
  
"You don't understand," he said, helplessly. "The way it felt not to have something so evil inside me. Not to have to fight every second."   
  
"There's evil inside all of us," Buffy said. "And some things are worth fighting for."   
  
He shook her slightly, his anger rumbling in his throat. "I was free," he said. "And you can't judge what that was worth." She twisted small fingers in the cloth of his t-shirt, digging at his waist.   
  
"I know," she said quietly, and looked away, her eyes casting for something to settle on in the dark tunnel.   
  
"I don't-" Angel started, then stopped. "I'm tired," he said. "I'm tired of hating myself."   
  
"You don't have to hate yourself," Buffy said, her hand slipping beneath his shirt to grasp his side. Her fingers dug into his flesh, pressed tight against his ribs. "You're a good person," she said. "And you don't ever have to stop being that."   
  
Angel met her eyes, and his face morphed, vampiric ridges sprouting over his eyes. He bared his fangs. "A good person?" he said, mocking what he was with biting sarcasm. "How could you chose this?" he asked, and her eyes filled with tears as his fingers crushed her arms in his grasp. "How could you want this? How could you want me to be this?"   
  
"I love you," she said into his face, her fingernails pressed so tight against his side they drew blood in half-circles from his skin. "I love this you. The one I don't have to protect. The one who doesn't flinch at the sight of torture. Who knows what it is to kill. What it feels..." She shook her head. "I didn't want to lose you." He stared at her, and slowly eased his hands away from her arms, loosening his grip, then letting her go. She staggered, leaning briefly against him before her fingers trailed away from his side. "I was losing you," she said so softly he wouldn't have heard her with human ears.   
  
"I was human for two days," he said. "You didn't give it a chance."   
  
"Well the Dagnu didn't exactly let me, did it?" she snapped. "I had to make a choice now, today, and whatever I chose was for all time." She turned her back on him, and took a step away. "I knew I might lose you either way," she said. "And maybe I was wrong." She spun on her heel and faced him again, her hands tucked tight against her chest. "But the human you isn't the you I fell in love with," she said. "And I chose the man I love."   
  
"What you chose isn't a man at all," Angel said.   
  
"I don't care!" Buffy yelled. "I'm not human either. Not like Xander and Giles and the others."   
  
Angel stood with his head bowed, a long moment passed in silence. Buffy scuffed her feet against the rocky ground, and listened to the puffs of dust that rose with the movement. She lifted her eyes and tried to read Angel's expression in the darkness. She shook her head, and closed her eyes tight against the pressure behind them. "I..." she finally said. "I'm asking you to forgive me." She paused, her throat tight. "I chose what I needed. Not what you needed. And I know I don't deserve--" She stopped as Angel's arms wrapped close around her, lifting her up and squeezing the air from her lungs. She put her arms around his neck and pressed her face to his shoulder.   
  
"I need you," he whispered.   
  
Her hand stroked the side of his face, and she felt the wet slick of his tears as her fingers drifted over his cheek. Her own tears slid unnoticed to dampen his neck and the cloth on his shoulder. Angel lifted one hand to her hair, slipping his fingers underneath the mass of tangled strands and cradled her skull in his large palm. She kissed his shoulder softly, then the salty skin of his neck. She tasted the rusty crust of blood drying on the underside of his chin, and the dampness of his cheek. He shifted her in his arms and their lips met softly, a tentative touch.   
  
"I never deserved your forgiveness," he said, pressing the words against her lips. "But you gave it to me." He rested his forehead against hers, and she closed her eyes. "And you could never hurt me so badly that I would turn away from you." He shook his head, his skin rubbing rough against hers. "I don't-" he said. "I can't agree with your choice." She jerked slightly against him, and he pressed his lips to hers again, this time more firmly. "But it was your choice, not mine." She pulled at his lip with her teeth, and he smiled. "And my choice is you. Whatever it takes."   
  
"I love you," she whispered. He lowered her slowly to the ground, where she stood for a moment, her hands around his waist. Her head pressed against his chest. She remembered the way it felt to hear the steady thump of a heart inside that chest, and she touched her fingers to his torso in a silent good-bye to that man, that dream. Then she stood beside Angel in the dark and pressed her palm to his. He closed his fingers around her hand, and she started them walking with a tug.   
  
"We've got to get back," she said. "To make sure the others are okay."   
  
"How long do you think we've been down here?" Angel asked.   
  
"No way to tell," Buffy said. "I'm not even sure how long the fall took."   
  
"Willow?" Angel asked.   
  
"I don't know," Buffy said. "I think she hit her head when we knocked her chair over."   
  
"I remember what I did to her," Angel said, subdued. "It was bad."   
  
"We should hurry," Buffy said. She walked faster, though she wished they could stay a while longer in the dark, where the taste of tears and sweat and blood was enough to drive away blame and misunderstanding. Angel matched her pace and they followed the tunnel blindly, waiting for it to spit them onto the surface.   
  
*   
The sun slipped below the horizon as they reached the end of the tunnel and stepped out into the dim reddened haze of dusk. They were in the middle of an abandoned property, the dusty earth studded with forlorn shrubs and the stunted beginnings of trees. Buffy turned her head, attempting to orient herself. Angel tilted his face into the sight breeze.   
  
"We're near the church," he said.   
  
"Which way?" Buffy asked. She dug her fingers into his hand, tightening her grip as he pulled her to the left. They moved more quickly in the open, their hurried walk turning into an easy lope as their feet hit the road. The blocks fell away easily and the house with the blue door came into view. Buffy's insides jumped and she tried to steel herself against hope, prepare herself for the worst. Angel ducked his head as he silently entered the doorway.   
  
Wesley and Cordelia crouched beside the jagged edges of floor that opened around the gaping hole which had swallowed the Slayer and two Angels. Wesley fed rope into the hole, watching coil after coil disappear into the depths.   
  
"This is hopeless," Cordelia said. "There's no way they could have survived."   
  
"We don't know that," Wesley insisted, continuing to lower the rope.   
  
"Buffy?" Cordelia yelled into the hole. She turned her ear toward the hole as she listened for an answer.   
  
"We're here," Buffy said, an amused smile on her face. Wesley looked up, dropping the rest of the rope into the hole in his surprise. Cordelia stared at them, her mouth open.   
  
"You fell practically to the Earth's core," she said.   
  
"And lived to tell the tale," Buffy answered.   
  
"And you have nothing better to do than scare us?" She shook her hair out of her face as she climbed to her feet, her annoyance barely masking her relief. Wesley rose beside her, a broad smile on his face.   
  
"Yes, well, I knew we didn't need to worry," he said. He awkwardly shook Buffy's hand, then pulled her into a sudden, short hug.   
  
"But how?" Cordelia said as he released the Slayer. "You couldn't have walked back from China this fast." She smiled.   
  
"It's a long story," Buffy said. "Where's Willow? The others?"   
  
"They took her to the hospital," Wesley said. "Willow was unconscious."   
  
"But she's alive," Angel said softly. Wesley nodded.   
  
"She's in good hands."   
  
"We should go," Buffy said.   
  
"I'll drive us," Cordelia said. "We'll have just enough time for a long story."   
  
Wesley climbed into the passenger's side of Cordelia's sporty red car, and Buffy and Angel slid in the back seat, their hands lay against the leather interior, just barely touching.   
  
"So," Cordelia said. "Tell."   
  
"I must admit," Wesley added. "I am curious as to how you survived the fall."   
  
"Yeah, especially because you don't have that immortality thing on your side anymore," Cordelia said, giving Angel a look in the rearview mirror. "And where's Angelus?" Cordelia asked. "Did you finally kill him?"   
  
Buffy looked at Angel, unsure of how much to say. "Not exactly," she hedged.   
  
"Well?" Cordelia said.   
  
"The short version," Buffy said. "It was the Dagnu. That's how we survived."   
  
"Of course," Wesley said. "I had my suspicions when Giles said the earth opened up as it did, but as earthquakes have been known to occur in Sunnydale, I couldn't rule out a natural explanation."   
  
"Dagnu?" Cordelia said.   
  
"An extremely powerful, some might say, godlike demon," Wesley filled in snootily.   
  
"Oh, the thing that split Angel in two?"   
  
"Right," Buffy said. "Anyway it brought us down there, and probably I should wait to tell the rest."   
  
"Whatever," Cordelia said. "Anyway, we're almost there." She turned into the hospital parking lot, and parked the car. They piled out of the car and headed into the hospital. Buffy and Angel walked together, and Buffy sent Angel another look asking him how much to tell the others.   
  
"Any information you could give me on the Dagnu would be invaluable," Wesley said, interrupting the moment of silent communication. "We have so little detail. Mainly myths, passed down for generations, no doubt twisted in the telling."   
  
"There's not much detail to be had," Buffy said. "I didn't even see it this time."   
  
"Who cares about the Dag-thing?" Cordelia said. "I want to know what happened to big evil vampire guy who wants to kill all of us." The glass doors of the hospital slid open, and they walked inside. "Priorities, anyone?" Cordelia led the way to the front desk, and asked where Willow Rosenberg was. They hurried down the corridor in the direction of Willow's room.   
  
Xander and Oz sat outside the door, disheveled, worried, but unharmed. They rose to their feet as the group approached. Xander embraced Buffy in a tight hug.   
  
"Man, am I glad to see you," he said with a smile.   
  
"Can't get rid of me that easily," she said. "How is she?" she asked as she pulled away from the hug.   
  
"Not great," Oz said. "But alive."   
  
"What did the doctors say?" Angel asked.   
  
"Besides, you can't come in here?" Xander said. "That she's lost a lot of blood. She has a concussion. But she regained consciousness in the ambulance so they don't think it's as bad as the coma last year."   
  
"She had a lot of wounds," Oz said. "Like cuts and burns. From when he-"   
  
"But she's going to be okay?" Buffy broke in.   
  
"Physically," Oz said. "Yeah. But she'll have scars."   
  
Giles hurried up the group with three cups of coffee in his hands. He quickly handed them off to Xander, and Buffy wrapped him in a tight hug. He stroked her hair gently once. "We feared the worst," he said, a slight tremor shaking his voice. She tightened her squeeze reassuringly, then released him and stepped back.   
  
"I'm okay," she said.   
  
"What happened?" Xander asked.   
  
"The Dagnu brought them down there," Cordelia answered. "Like anyone cares! Get to the part about Angelus."   
  
"Well, he's gone," Buffy said.   
  
"You killed him?" Xander asked.   
  
"No," she answered. "I mean..."   
  
"I'm not human anymore," Angel said, filling her awkward silence. She gave him a silent look of thanks. "I'm as I was, a vampire with a soul." He touched her hip lightly.   
  
"So the Dagnu just took it back?" Xander said. "That sucks, man."   
  
"It was my choice," Buffy said. She looked at her hands. Xander turned to Angel, shock written on his face, while the others shifted uncomfortably, unsure what to do with the information. Oz's jaw clenched. Angel placed his hand between her shoulder blades, the flat pressure a silent reassurance.   
  
"Geez, Buffy. Selfish much?" Cordelia finally snapped, her eyebrows arched.   
  
"Excuse me?" Buffy said. "_You're_ calling me selfish?"   
  
"Takes one to know one," Cordelia said, with a sarcastic tilt of her head. "And yeah, I think you're more selfish than I'll ever be." She put her hands on her hips and leaned forward. "That's fine if you want to risk your own life the next time he has a moment of happiness, but what about the rest of us?" Cordelia said. "Did you manage to spare any of us a thought since we tend to be the ones he tries to maim and kill?" She looked at Angel. "No offense."   
  
"None taken," Angel said.   
  
"Angel can never lose his soul or be human again," Buffy said. "That was part of the deal."   
  
"Fine," Cordelia said. "So that makes you selfless? You're saying you made this choice for his sake? That he'd choose to be all tortured and whatever?"   
  
"You weren't even around the last two days," Buffy snapped. "You have no idea what you're talking about."   
  
"It doesn't take a genius," Cordelia said bluntly.   
  
"Obviously," Buffy snapped.   
  
"Buffy's reasons are her own," Giles said firmly, his voice shutting down any further argument or interrogation. "She does not have to explain herself to us." He turned to Buffy. "And I assume you have already given an explanation to the person you owed one." He eyed Angel's hand, still pressed to her back, then turned a slightly hard edged gaze on his Slayer. She nodded an affirmation, and he bobbed his head once in acknowledgment.   
  
"Are they going to let us in to see Willow any time this century?" Cordelia asked after a moment of silence no one quite knew how to break. "Because I have stuff I could be doing right now."   
  
"Nice, Cordy," Xander muttered.   
  
"Hey, I'm here, aren't I?" Cordelia snapped.   
  
"Maybe you should ask if they have any spare Midol sitting around," Xander said. Cordelia rolled her eyes at him.   
  
"I'll go ask the doctor again," Oz said, his subdued voice just slightly strained. He walked down the hall toward the desk. Buffy put her fingers to the healing bite on her shoulder, then slid to the ground, leaning against the wall.   
  
"Do you want me to get you a chair from the waiting room?" Angel asked. She shook her head. He sat down next to her and tipped his head back against the wall. He closed his eyes. Giles stood with his arms crossed over his chest, his head bowed in thought. Xander offered him a coffee, but he shook his head. Xander handed the coffee to Wesley, then gave one to Cordelia.   
  
"Is this decaf?" she asked. He snorted and shook his head in annoyance. "Just asking." She took a small sip, and he smiled at her over his cup. Oz returned with a doctor in tow. The doctor looked over the large crowd congregating in the hallway.   
  
"I'm going to let you see her," he said. "But only one or two at a time, and don't stay too long. She's been through a lot, and she's still very weak."   
  
"You should go first," Xander said to Oz, and the smaller boy inclined his head in thanks.   
  
"We can both go," he said. Xander gave him a lopsided smile, and followed him into the room. The door closed behind them, and Cordelia sighed. Wesley turned his gaze to Angel.   
  
"Would you mind satisfying my curiosity on one point?" he said.   
  
"What?" Angel asked.   
  
"I'm not clear on what this transformation entails," he said. "What do you remember of the time you were separated in two, how do you remember it?"   
  
"I remember all of it," Angel said, his voice dull. "Both sides of the split."   
  
"Then you remember Faith," Wesley said tentatively. Teeth tearing flesh, scent of blood, taste of Slayer. Power. Angel winced.   
  
"For God's sake, Wesley," Giles said, his voice crisp with annoyance.   
  
"If it's too painful, of course," Wesley said. "But if you could tell me anything." He stopped. "I have to complete the Watcher diary concerning her life. Anything you could tell me. Perhaps it could help a future Slayer..." Lips pressed together with hungry violence. Angel straightened against the wall.   
  
"She turned," he said. Her body crushed against the wall, writhing against him.   
  
"What?" Giles asked, his head rising from its study of the polished white tiles.   
  
"She was working for the Mayor," Angel said. "She came to me, or him, Angelus, to get me to join them." He dug his fingers into his bent knee. The Mayor's odd smile. Crunch of cookies.   
  
"I should have known," Buffy said. "She's been undermining us; she could have gotten any of us killed."   
  
"Well, it's certainly too late for that now," Wesley said gently.   
  
"I know," Buffy said. "It's just-- I trusted her with your lives. I wanted to believe..."   
  
"That must be a weight off your shoulders," Cordelia said to Angel. "Since you know, you don't have to feel so bad about killing her." Angel stared at her with hard eyes. "Or you could feel bad anyway," Cordelia said, huffing a strand of hair out of her eyes. Buffy wrapped her hand around Angel's arm.   
  
"The Mayor was the one who sent those vamps to kill me," Angel said. Buffy pressed her head against his shoulder. "He brought me into his office and forced me to agree to take her place and work for him."   
  
"Do you remember anything else?" Giles asked. "Perhaps about the Ascension."   
  
"Graduation," Angel said. "He wouldn't tell me much, but he did mention that. And he's invulnerable. He healed right in front of me when I stabbed him." He frowned.   
  
"He had no idea that there were two of you at the time?" Giles said.   
  
"I don't think so," Angel said. "None of his vamps survived the attack to tell him I was with Buffy or that she had to fight them all off by herself." He brushed his cheek against the top of Buffy's head, shifting blonde hair under the movement.   
  
"Then there's no way he could guess you're no longer Angelus," Wesley said, seeing where Giles' thoughts were headed.   
  
"You want me to play along," Angel said. Buffy tensed against him.   
  
"If you could get any information, it would be invaluable," Giles said.   
  
"All right," Angel agreed. "I can act that part." Buffy pressed her forehead to his arm, and closed her eyes against the material of his shirt. She nodded slightly, resigned.   
  
Xander emerged from the hospital room, and Oz followed a moment later. Both boys looked shaken. Xander rubbed his forehead absently with an unsure hand. Oz stared, his mouth set in a hard line.   
  
"Me next," Cordelia said, then looked at Buffy guiltily. Buffy waved her ahead. She ducked inside the room with Wesley. The door clicked closed behind them, and Xander glared at the floor. Oz's eyes focused on a spot somewhere above Buffy's head. His jaw clenched.   
  
"Oz?" Buffy said. He inched his gaze closer to her head, but refused to meet her eyes. "Is she okay?" He took a deep breath, and opened his mouth, then turned and walked several feet away. His fists curled, and Buffy rose to her feet. She stood next to him and put her hand on his shoulder. He flinched away from her. "What is it?" she asked.   
  
"I can't talk," he said after a long moment. "Because what I want to do is scream." He whirled on her, his eyes bright. "Maybe you'll understand when you see her."   
  
"Understand what?" Buffy asked, shrugging in confusion.   
  
"You put the thing that did that to her inside him," Oz said. He turned his head to the wall, his jaw jumping nervously.   
  
"I--" Buffy said. "It's not like that."   
  
"I know what it's like," Oz said. He pressed his clenched fist hard against his chest. "I know what it's like to have this thing inside me."   
  
"The wolf isn't the same," Buffy said.   
  
"How do you know?" Oz asked.   
  
"Because the vampire is part of him, he doesn't become it three nights a month."   
  
"You're right," Oz said. "It's worse for him. He can't tell where it ends, and he begins. Most of the time I can see the line."   
  
"No," Buffy said. "He's one person. His soul and his demon are both part of who he is." Oz shook his head.   
  
"Maybe when you see her." He turned and walked to the men's bathroom. Buffy watched the door slam behind him, and turned to the wall. She leaned against her balled fists and gritted her teeth.   
  
Xander tapped her on the shoulder, then stuffed his hands in his pockets. She turned, her eyes bright. He looked at her for a moment without speaking, his shoulders hunched. She waited.   
  
"I'm trying to understand," he finally said. "But I keep seeing the look on his face when he was talking about how it felt to be human. And the joy in his eyes." He stopped. Buffy looked away; her drifting eyes caught on Cordelia and Wesley leaving Willow's room. Angel stood up, and Giles entered the room. Xander grabbed her face in his hand and pulled it until she was forced to meet his eyes. "You say you love him," he said.   
  
"I love him," Buffy said, and jerked her head from his grasp.   
  
"Then how could you take that from him." Buffy met his eyes, and the guilt and fear reflected in her gaze was so deep he almost cringed.   
  
"I need him," she said simply. "It was the only way we could be together." He searched her eyes.   
  
"Why?" he asked.   
  
"Because of who I am," she said.   
  
"It had nothing to do with the demon?" he said. "With your obsession with the demon? Or your fascination or whatever you want to call it?"   
  
"What are you talking about?" she said.   
  
"It's like you wanted him evil," Xander said.   
  
"No," Buffy said. "He's not evil. He's not a human, or a vampire. He's something different. Something more."   
  
Xander nodded slowly. "Maybe you're right." He paused. "But I don't think he sees it that way." He shrugged his shoulders. "It's none of my business, I know. And if he's okay with it, then I guess I am too." He brushed a lock of Buffy's hair behind her ear. "But he would do anything for you, Buff. And it feels like you did this for yourself."   
  
Buffy chewed at her lower lip thoughtfully. "So what are you saying?"   
  
"Nothing," Xander said. "Maybe just that you owe him one. A big one."   
  
Buffy nodded. "I know."   
  
"Then I'm done," Xander said. Buffy watched thoughtfully as he slouched back down the hallway. Giles emerged from Willow's room, and after he said something to Angel, the other man hesitantly reached for the door and slipped inside.   
  
Angel entered the hospital room slowly. He closed the door with a quiet click and skulked against the wall. Willow turned her pale face to him and met his eyes. He flinched.   
  
"You can come in," she said. Her voice was soft and scratchy, but her tone was steady. He took a cautious step or two forward.   
  
"Did they tell you?" he said.   
  
"That you're a vampire?" She absently scratched at the bandage that covered her burned chest, and winced at the sudden burst of pain. "Yes."   
  
He cleared his throat nervously. "I don't um- I don't have to be here if it makes you uncomfortable. I just wanted to make sure you were okay." He backed up a step and reached for the doorknob.   
  
"Angel," she said. He stopped. "Come here." He approached the bed silently, urged forward by her wide green eyes. The hospital gown draped awkwardly over her thin shoulders. Bandages nestled on her shoulder, peeked out of the top of the thin white gown, hid against her hairline. Angel reached the side of the bed and closed his eyes.   
  
"I'm so sorry," he whispered.   
  
"Don't be." Her hand circled his, her grip weak, but warm and steady. His eyes opened and he looked at her long white fingers, holding his hand with comforting pressure.   
  
"You should hate me," he said. He rubbed his thumb lightly over the back of her hand, then stood motionless, letting her keep him there, waiting for her to let go, hoping she wouldn't.   
  
"I don't," she said. Her voice was rough with pain, and he stared at the purple bruises on her throat.   
  
"Why?" he asked.   
  
"Because it wasn't you that did this to me." He shook his head regretfully, and pulled his hand. She tightened her grip, and he stopped pulling.   
  
"The thing that did this to you is inside me," he said. "It's part of me."   
  
She nodded. "And a part of me will always fear you," she said. "That part of you." Her lip trembled. "I will never forget. I can't." She pulled on his hand, and he knelt so his face was level with hers. She released his hand and gently stroked his cheek. "But what you are now is not what did this to me."   
  
"I remember it all," he said.   
  
She shook her head. "It wasn't you, as you are now, that did this. I know that with your soul you would never hurt me. I trust you."   
  
Angel bowed his head. "How can you be sure?"   
  
"How can you doubt it?" she asked, and her smile was broad and friendly. It hid no hatred, no resentment. It was like the sun peeking through the clouds. Angel kissed her gingerly on the forehead.   
  
"Anything I can do," he said. "Ever. All you have to do is ask." She patted his cheek gently and he rose to his feet.   
  
"You don't have to be defined by your demons, Angel," she said. He heard her, and nodded, but inside he wasn't sure. He didn't know how to define himself in any other way. He couldn't feel the separation she made so easily.   
  
Buffy entered the room, and touched his arm as they passed each other. Willow smiled, and Buffy hurried to her side. Angel watched for a moment, then slipped out the door. He sat down again across from the door, and after a moment Xander sat down next to him. The boy faked a punch at his arm and grinned.   
  
"Where are Cordelia and Wesley?" he asked.   
  
"Cordelia went home, Wesley went back to the library to work on the Watcher Diaries."   
  
Angel nodded, and they both subsided into comfortable silence, watching the door. The doctor emerged from another room and approached them. He poked his head inside the room and told Buffy to wrap it up. "I think Miss Rosenberg's had enough excitement for one day." After a moment, Buffy exited the room.   
  
"You should go home," the doctor said to the group in general. "Get some sleep. You'll be able to spend some time with her tomorrow." They milled around in the hall for a moment.   
  
"I'm going to stick around for a while," Oz said.   
  
"Me too," Xander agreed. "I'm going to amuse myself by hitting on the candy-stripers." Buffy snorted and hid a grin.   
  
"Someone should take a look at your wounds," Giles said to Buffy and Angel.   
  
"They're not serious," Buffy said.   
  
"Still," Giles said. "No harm in cleaning them up is there?" She shook her head, and looked at Angel. He nodded.   
  
"Lead the way, oh Watcher mine," Buffy said with a smile. Giles shook his head in amusement. "We'll be back," she said to Xander. She and Angel followed Giles to the parking lot, and climbed into the back-seat of the car. She snuck looks at Angel from the corner of her eye, taking in his bowed head and the thoughtful set of his jaw.   
  
"Everything all right?" she asked. His eyes refocused, and he looked at her with a brief smile.   
  
"Just thinking," he said. She nodded.   
  
"You know," she started. "I um- if you change your mind about what you said before..." She paused, unsure of herself. "I mean, I would still understand."   
  
"I'm not going anywhere," he said.   
  
"I just..." She stopped, and her eyes slid past him. "I don't really understand how you could forgive me," she said. "For what I did."   
  
"You don't earn forgiveness, Buffy," he said. "It's a gift. A gift you've given me." He smiled, and brushed her cheek with his thumb. "And you're an easy person to forgive." He cupped her cheek, and she placed her hand cautiously over his. "Besides," he said. "I was there. I saw just like you did that my being human changed things between us."   
  
She cast her eyes down. "But..." she said.   
  
"I choose you," he said. "Over anything else." She smiled, and he kissed her gently. "I love you."   
  
They rode the rest of the way to Giles' apartment in silence, but their hands were laced together on the seat between them. When Giles parked, Buffy slid across the seat and got out on Angel's side so their hands would stay joined. He smiled as he helped her out of the car, and she almost forgave herself for what she'd taken from him.   
  
Giles unlocked the apartment and opened the door. "I'll get some disinfectant," he said. He lightly touched the skin beside the bite on Buffy's shoulder. "That looks fairly painful." Buffy shook her head.   
  
"I barely even feel it," she said.   
  
"At some point, you've been in pain so long you forget," Angel said.   
  
"Is that intended to reassure me?" Giles said, raising his eyebrows with a small smile.   
  
"I suppose it doesn't sound that healthy out loud," Angel admitted, smiling ruefully. Buffy touched the back of the hand she held, and bit her lip thoughtfully. Giles climbed the stairs to his bedroom.   
  
"I'll be right back," he said.   
  
When he reached his bedroom door, Buffy turned her head to look at Angel's face. "I don't want you to live like that," she said.   
  
"Like what?"   
  
"Like you hurt so much you can't even feel it anymore."   
  
He touched her waist, his hand cool and firm, pressing against her through her shirt. She took a step closer. "You make me feel, Buffy," he said. "Since the first time I saw you."   
  
"Is it worth it, if it means you feel more pain?" Buffy said softly. He slid his hand to the small of her back, and clutched at her shirt. She put her hand on his chest, lightly, then curling her hand against him.   
  
He nodded. "Yes."   
  
His eyes met hers, and warmed her with their trust, their truth. She circled her arm around his body, and rested her head against his chest. He lowered her chin to her head, and stood. She sighed against him, allowing herself to accept his forgiveness. Her soul loosened its anxious, guilty hold on self-doubt and questions, though she could not quite let them go. Behind closed eyes, and in his arms, she felt a kind of peace in knowing she could not have chosen anything else. Right or wrong, no other choice was possible.   
  
end   


_Author's Note: If you're wondering about a sequel...well, it's possible. But...it all depends on whether I can come up with a decent plot that will sustain an entire sequel. So I may continue, but I can't promise anything.  
  
Also...THANKS so much to everyone who left me feedback on this story. I really appreciate it. _


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